#but I needed another name for him other than Nightmare

[wifelivvyx]

can you write George Weasley scenario where george x y/n (rich pireblood slytherin) are in relationship, they are kissing in corridor and umbridge break them apart with a spell then she gives y/n that she deserves much better than George. Thank you 🩷

The dimly lit corridor of Hogwarts was quiet, save for the faint rustle of robes and the soft echoes of footsteps far in the distance. George Weasley leaned casually against the cool stone wall, his fiery red hair tousled as always, his mischievous grin firmly in place. He reached out, pulling Y/N closer, their fingers brushing before she relented and stepped into his arms.

“You know,” Y/N said, tilting her head slightly, her emerald eyes glinting with amusement, “if we get caught, it’s your fault.”

George smirked, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Worth it.”

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that made her momentarily forget where they were. In that moment, house rivalries, the chaos of Hogwarts, and everything else faded away.

Until—

“Depulso!”

A bright light shot between them, forcing them apart as a magical force yanked them away from each other. George stumbled slightly, catching himself against the wall, while Y/N gasped, her heart racing as her wand slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.

Standing a few feet away, wand raised and an expression of smug triumph on her toad-like face, was Dolores Umbridge. Her pink cardigan and prim bow seemed even more grotesque under the flickering torchlight.

“Well, well, well,” she said, her high-pitched voice oozing with false sweetness. “What do we have here? A little… interhouse fraternization, shall we call it?”

Y/N straightened, brushing her robes as she glared at the woman. “Professor, with all due respect—”

“Oh, no need to explain, my dear,” Umbridge interrupted, cutting her off with a sickening smile. She turned her beady eyes to George, her gaze dripping with disdain. “A Weasley, of all people. How utterly… disappointing.”

George clenched his fists, but his voice was calm, though biting. “Didn’t realize my name offended you so much, Professor.”

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed as her smile widened, a dangerous combination. “Miss Y/L/N,” she said, ignoring George entirely, “you are a pureblood. A young lady of your standing should know better than to squander your time on… well…” She gave George a once-over, her nose wrinkling as though she’d caught a whiff of dungbombs. “This sort.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Professor,” she said evenly, stepping forward, “I don’t believe who I spend my time with is any of your concern.”

“Oh, but it is,” Umbridge said, her tone turning syrupy with mock concern. “Someone of your breeding deserves so much better. Tradition, status, and decorum must be upheld, after all. A Weasley could never hope to understand the significance of such things.”

George stepped forward, his voice sharper now. “I think Y/N deserves someone who treats her like a person, not a prize for her bloodline.”

Umbridge’s smile finally faltered, replaced by a cold, steely glare. “Ten points from Gryffindor,” she snapped. “For your insolence, Mr. Weasley. And Miss Y/L/N…” Her voice dripped with condescension. “You will report to my office tomorrow for a discussion on appropriate behavior.”

With a flick of her wand, Umbridge turned on her heel and marched away, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor.

As soon as she disappeared around the corner, George turned to Y/N, his jaw still tight. “Are you okay?”

Y/N exhaled slowly, picking up her wand. “I’m fine. Just furious.”

“She’s a nightmare,” George muttered, his hands running through his hair. “And I don’t care what she says. You’re way too good for her, not me.”

Y/N smiled softly, stepping closer. “She can say what she wants. It doesn’t change anything.”

George’s grin returned, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes rekindling. “That’s my girl.”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly before pulling him into another kiss—this time making sure they’d hear anyone coming.

[glitchy-npc]

8 👁👄👁 for tegan and ricardo if you like, or anyone else if you're inspired!

8...In Secrecy. [AO3] Sidestep era days, 830 words.

Tegan’s not sure he’ll ever get used to how big the sky is. He can see it in the city, of course, but it's all broken up, contained, wrangled in by skyscrapers or obscured by smog. Not that most people bother looking up, Los Diablos is the kind of city that forces people’s heads down. 

But out here at the ranch, it’s different. The sky is wild and unrestrained, the vast blue broken only by the occasional wispy white cloud. 

It's beautiful, and intimidating. All that space. All that freedom. He’s not used to it. Trying not to think about the Farm only makes him think of it more. The four concrete walls of his sleeping cell. The training room. The labs. The showers and the mess hall. That had been the totality of his world until his first mission. The sky had been overcast then. People died. He followed their orders. Stay in one place. Play the piano, pick up the thoughts, relay them to his handler. What they did with that information wasn’t hard to guess. Blackmail, extortion, “accidents”. No, call it what it was. Murder. Tegan knows that If he wants to be a person instead of a tool, he needs to take responsibility like one. Don’t blame the bullet, blame the one who pulls the trigger. The one whose information set it up. He could have lied. But he didn’t. And people died for it. At least waking, conscious thoughts are better than the nightmares. More control. He can stop thinking about it when he wants to. If he wants to.

His thoughts are interrupted by a warm arm pressing against his where they rest against a wooden fence.

“Head in the clouds?” Ricardo's smile is smug but his eyes are soft. He’s different when he’s at his mother’s ranch. Different in a way Tegan finds hard to name. Relaxed, maybe. At home. Another unfamiliar concept.

“What?” Tegan blinks, head still foggy from memories.

“It's a saying.”

“About what?”

“Daydreaming, mostly.” 

“I wasn’t.” And it's the truth. Memories of the Farm are closer to hauntings than daydreams. Ghosts that refuse to leave. Maybe they can’t.

“Well, I was.” Ricardo’s smile teases wider and Tegan knows it’s bait but bites anyway. It’s not like Ricardo wouldn’t have pressed on regardless, silence never stopped him.

“About what?” 

“About kissing you again.” Not even the slightest hesitation. Asshole.

“Don’t be an idiot.” It was one of Tegan’s best tactics, hiding flustered embarrassment behind insults. There was no sidestepping that one, he walked right into it. Maybe he was the idiot. “Besides, we’re not exactly alone.”

“Oh I don’t think the horses gossip much.” Ricardo chuckles a little at his own joke. 

“Not the horses.” Tegan groaned. “The ranch hands.” He had already forgotten their names which was frustrating but people rarely think about their own names. It was hard to remember his own sometimes. That this one stuck when so many others had slipped away. 

“Not to mention your mom.” That was who the secret of their…whatever this was, was really being kept from. 

“Then let's go somewhere more private.” Ricardo suggests, voice dropping an octave that does strange things to Tegan’s stomach. Butterflies. Humans call it butterflies. 

Another obvious trap but Tegan doesn’t even flinch when Ricardo grabs his hand and pulls him along. He really was the idiot. 

The trip isn’t long and it ends at the barn. The barn smells of horses and old hay. And Ricardo. His cologne, a bit of sweat. So close as he pressed his lips against Tegans, backed up against the wooden barn door with its peeling paint. The kiss is different from the one they shared on the battlefield. No blood, for one, but still the same adrenaline. Would kissing Ricardo always feel like this? Exciting. Dangerous. 

A risk. Tegan can’t help but feel a nagging sense of dread even as Ricardo's tongue slides into his mouth, pressed closer against the old wood as the kiss deepens. 

No, not dread, someone’s approaching, thoughts intent on the barn and the sound of footsteps confirm it. Ortega must have heard them too since he pulls away just as one of the farm hands round the corner. Juan. His name was Juan.

“Oh, hey Ricky, your mamá was looking for you, foods ready.” Juan says. If he had any suspicions about what the two of them were up to, they aren't in any forethoughts Tegan can read. 

“Just giving Tegan the tour, we’ll be right in.” Ricardo lies with confidence. Juan simply nods as he leaves. 

“Come on, let's go eat.” Ricardo claps Tegan on the shoulder. As if nothing had happened. As if Tegan’s whole reality didn’t shift its axis every time he touched him. No, that's dramatic but Tegan doesn’t have any other words for that feeling so he sighs and follows Ricardo out of the barn and towards the house. 

The sky settles into the soft pink of sunset.

[techbonnie]

I had a concept in my head, No Idea if I'm gonna follow through with it or not. I've always wanted to do a Mafia AU type thing but never found characters I felt fit.

None of this would be canon compliant in anyway shape or form lmao

some Bios under the cut

The Fazbears

First we've got the Don, the Boss, Fredbear "Goldie" Fazbear. He's the godfather, his family and Springs, have been part of this operation since the days of Al Capone. The police have been trying to get him for years , they've never been successful. He's a ruthless criminal and a strict father to the Freddles: Junior (Freddy), Teddy, and Ned (AKA Nightmare). Fredbears family diner is more or less a functional resturaunt but mostly acts a shell corp for his money laundering.

The eldest of the sons is Fredrick Fazbear, To his buddies (Bonnie, Chika, and Roxy) he's merely Freddy (Never Fredbear). To his brothers and Father Freddy is Junior. He grew up best friends with Bonnie and Foxy. He's set to inherit the "business" from his Father, he knows better than to "go against the family" but it doesn't stop him from wanting to leave the life with Bonnie on his arm and not have to worry about being raided at any moment.

Teddy Fazbear (Toy Freddy) is the youngest of the three and while he is younf he is a Capo in the Family. He's annoyed that his father wants Freddy to inherit the buisiness instead of him. Its all Teddy has always wanted. Goldie promoted him to Capo at 16, he saw promise from his youngest. But he's still young and very enthusiastic about his assignments. Goldie believes that Teddy has some growing to do before he can name him his successor.

Ned "Nightmare" Fazbear (Nightmare) He's the middle son, but the biggest. The boy is built like a brick house. He has no drive to be head of the family, but is more than willing to act a bouncer/bodyguard/ muscle for either his father or brothers.

The Bunny's

Spring "Bonnie" Bunny, Joined the Family at 16, when his father insisted. Was best friends with Fredbear, and eventually went to college, had to drop out after the mother of his children got sick, hospital bills piled up and Spring had to return to the family, tail between his legs, luckily Fredbear understood that he couldn't get in trouble with the law, with two kids reliant on him, and a sick wife with expensive hospital bills, Fredbear opened the diner and let Spring head the restaurant.

Bonnie Bunny, named after his Dad sort of. Spring tried to keep Bonnie out of the business, but then found out about Bonnie and Freddy's relationship and is doing his best to protect his son, and Freddy, from Goldies wrath should he ever find out. Bonnie was trained in Cello, Bass, and Guitar. He loves music and wants to pursue a career in music with Freddy, but has a back up of business major (If the music doesn't work out he wants to own a bowling alley). Currently Bonnie is a college student(On the college Bowling team), and works the Bar and Ice cream Parlor at Fredbears family diner.

Theo Bunny, named after their mothers father. He was young when Mrs. Bunny died. He doesn't remember her much at all. But he was a prodigy when he was younger, played Violin, his brother taught him Guitar. He knows about Freddy and Bonnie's relationship and often blackmails his brother with it, threatening to tell Goldie. So Bonnie almost always gives in to what ever Theo wants.

[dirt-str1der]

just wanna say im obsessed with your mind and i read your posts about kiryu like the morning paper. thank you for your service

(Sweats) e-even the ones about him laying eggs ?

[moonlight-prose]

a request, if i may, of praising old man logan as he filfthly eats you out and it makes him combust the more you praise him? okay running away again

speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life

a/n: look at him taking off his glasses in absolute shock of this ask- no okay does old man logan have a praise kink? i would raise it higher and say every version of logan has a massive praise kink. this is a man who wants to know he's doing good in life. his love language is acts of service so he might get to hear a pretty thank you. also i'm not sorry for how feral this got. i have no explanation.

summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

word count: 3k+

pairing: old man!logan x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), praise kink, logan is obsessed, dirty talk via reader, he is so pretty when he blushes, manhandling, cumplay, cumeating, overstimulation, crying, he's needy in this one, angst, tortured soul of an old man, reverence, religious trauma + greek mythology hints.

He can feel the strings of fate pull tight around his broken heart. In a failed attempt to draw him back together. To piece together an organ that barely beat for him anymore. He might have felt it once, before it broke. Before it gnarled itself like the branches of a dying tree, one half twisting away from the other in a desperate attempt of survival.

He deemed it a useless part of his body until you came along. You with your smile that held enough cloying sweetness to choke him as he stood helpless. Silently begging for you to say his name. To bring him back to life.

Whatever horrors that plagued his mind—endless nightmares that promised nothing but anguish—suddenly came crashing to a halt at the sight of you. So pretty in your denim jeans and velvet top. An angel seated in the center of a bar that held more filth than you deserved to be near. Logan couldn’t fathom that luck struck him this hard.

Not when death had already claimed his soul; notched yet another tally in the endless wall of people that came before.

He felt the dirt pack under his nails as he clawed his way out of the grave he put himself in. Years spent alone—a man lost to the ravages of time—had turned him bitter. With rough edges and biting words that stung far more than he intended. How could he believe he deserved to live after he contributed so much to the endless pool of blood that tainted his soul? How was he allowed such softness after biting off bits of brutality his whole life?

Logan was pretty sure he survived on borrowed time that had already run out. He could feel death breathe down his neck as the days went on. A reminder that what little of his life remained would be spent suffering. And he found that accepting it was easier than battling against the will of God, or whoever toyed with his lifeline.

It was far easier to die than find a reason to live.

Until you said his name.

Softly. Sweetly. Reverence wrapped in a tight grasp of need.

You brought him back from the edge—took his hand and refused to take no for an answer. You and the safety of your touch; the promise in your kiss. You dragged him into a life he didn’t earn; one that almost tasted too sweet—too sour.

After near a decade of being buried beneath the dirt, he felt himself collapse above ground and suck in his first real gasp of fresh air. Alive, once more. Hell spit him out with a vow of love and who was he to argue against it.

His fingers dug into your plush thighs, tugging them open to see what lay between. He marveled at their softness, eyes wide and awestruck at the sight of you spread beneath him. You practically glowed in the dim light of the bedside table. Yellow, musty, yet angelic when it caressed your body with its heavenly touch.

He wondered if this was real life; your nails digging sharply into his shoulders gave him the answer.

"Logan," you sighed, voice high with need.

The strings pulled taught. A vice like hold that drew him to you.

Maybe that's what this unutterable feeling was. The gnawing pit at the bottom of his heart. A greed he'd never indulged before—too afraid of what it might ask for next. He wasn't a man who asked for much. Rather someone that found himself far too content with nothing. But tonight he found his lips forming the words of a false prayer that his mother taught him as a child.

Hail the angel in his bed. Hail every good fucking thing you brought into his life.

His teeth sunk into your thigh, body jolting at your responding moan. Fingers dug into his hair, tugging at the mussed locks with a high pitched whine. You were a needy little thing, but Logan found he desperately wanted to be needed.

He smiled laving his tongue over the tender spot, working his way up to where you dripped for him.

So slick. So perfect.

Saliva filled his mouth. "What do ya want baby?"

Your chest heaved; he could feel the heat of your body under his palms. "Your m-mouth Logan."

His eyes trailed along your brow covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was thick with the humid air of the outside world. But that didn't deter him from craving your skin near his. The pressure of your thighs around his head a welcome weight. If he sunk his teeth in where the curve of your leg met your hip he knew he could draw out that soft choking noise he longed to hear on days spent driving alone.

If he had his way he'd crawl into you to seek your serenity straight from the source. He'd never divulge about the ache that chewed him up on the inside, but Logan wondered if you knew. Could you tell how much he craved you? How much he couldn't live without you.

When your glittering eyes met his, the resolve he spent years building cracked like glass. You peered into him as if he was a stained glass window. A god you were more than happy to worship.

"You want me to lick this pretty pussy?" Fuck, he sounded drunk off your taste already.

His mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, your scent now filling his senses. Overwhelming him with what he wanted most. But he needed to hear it. The lilt of your begging; the soft echo of your need that washed over him like soothing river water.

He couldn't live without it.

"Yes," you sobbed, thigh twitching.

The string sliced his heart open, blood pooling onto the white bed sheets. Oh what a sweet death your love made. Oh...what a bittersweet way to go.

He'd die right now if you asked him to. Hand over his heart on a silver platter if you so wished it. Maybe that made him far too gone for his own good, but Logan couldn't remember a time in his life where he got this. Safety. The hope of love burning far too bright and far too hot for him to fly near it.

Yet there he was. Icarus happily soaring in your sun like glow.

"I got ya honey," he murmured. "Gonna take care of what's mine."

You nodded frantically—tears welling up in your eyes. "You take care of me Logan."

The breath in his chest stuttered, eyes dark as the words fell past your swollen lips. He wanted to explain why his cock twitched against his stomach. Why he now leaked into the sheet with heavy panted breaths. But every time he came up short with the words needed to form an answer.

"Yeah I do sweetheart," he breathed. "Don't I?"

"Uh-huh."

"Take care of what belongs to me."

There was no warning when his hands dragged you closer with a rough tug, mouth closing over your clit with a desperate suck. A cry wrenched from your mouth, sparks sharply traveling down your spine. He licked through your slick with a growl. Hands an unbreakable press against your thighs.

The sight of your body bowed, mouth open for small gasped breaths that never came, snapped something in his mind. He was an old man. Well past his years. But the taste of your pussy along his tongue brought back a ferocity he often tamped down in his younger age. He felt the feral want claw at his chest, and answered it with a broken snarl.

Swallowing down every drop you gave him, he plunged his tongue into your entrance, thrusting messily until a smear of your shiny slick began to coat his mouth. It covered his cheeks and clung to the hair of his beard. He'd clean it out later, taste you on his tongue until he was aching for another go. But for now he was preoccupied with the way you cried for him.

"Oh fuck!" Your thighs trembled over his shoulders, hips canting down to drag yourself along his tongue. "So good."

He shuddered, eyes rolling back at the sound of your praise. You caught it within seconds, lips pulling into a breathless smile that left him gasping for air. His teeth nipped at your thigh briefly as his hips ground into the mattress below.

"You like that baby?" you breathed, thumb smearing your own slick against his cheek.

Something hot washed over his body. A needy sick and twisted ache that he'd never indulged in before. He wanted to be a good man to you; longed to be needed. And fuck if you didn't give him everything.

You were his walking wet dream. His future handed off and wrapped in a neat little bow.

"L-Love your tongue Logan-" A high gasp tore from your throat when he dived back in. Slurping at your clit with a heady moan as you dragged him closer. "Taking care of me so well."

His hips canted down into the bed, fucking his cock along the warmth of his stomach, as you gushed into his mouth again. Eyes zeroed in on your face, pupils dilated as he growled into your flesh. You no longer could see the man you loved, but the feral side he tamped down during the day. The animal he longed to release in your presence.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum."

His arms looped around your thighs and with a sharp yank, he had his face buried deep enough to suffocate himself. You sobbed an incoherent version of his name. Nails clawed at his shoulders, but Logan could feel the pulse of your clit under his tongue.

He sucked it into his mouth with a grunt, rolling it along his tongue as you trembled with the oncoming shocks of an orgasm that threatened to destroy you.

Tears dripped down your cheeks and Logan felt the satisfying part of his heart begin to stitch itself back together. The strings were tight enough to numb his pain. To quell the flare of agony.

That used to be all he knew, all he counted on most days. When there was nothing left and he'd propped the shovel in the dirt—his grave open and waiting—he stumbled right into your arms. He found his reason for living.

Heat curled around his spine as you shook with the impending orgasm—the stimulation on your clit practically debilitating. He grunted into your soaked flesh, eyes narrowed as he chased the release that pulled his stomach taut. But this wasn't for him to indulge in; this wasn't his pleasure.

So with a throaty moan you felt reverberate along your body, he scraped his teeth along your clit and watched as your body went stiff.

"Logan!" you cried, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of him you could reach.

You gushed into his awaiting mouth, praises of it's so good, you're so good falling upon his ears like the whimpered prayers of a devout worshiper thanking your god.

"Taste so fuckin' good," he mumbled, drunk on what you gave him.

He didn't care that you were jolting with each pass of his tongue along your pussy. He didn't care that you were shocked with overstimulation, small broken cries of his name muffled by the press of your thighs against his ears. He licked at you until he couldn't breathe. Buried his tongue into your twitching entrance and sucked out your cum with a happy hum.

"P-Please." You tugged at his hair, pulling him off you with a sob. "I-I can't anymore Logan."

"'M not fuckin' finished," he said, eyes glazed and face coated in your slick.

You made a mess of his face. The light catching along where you spilled into his mouth and along his throat. And still he wanted more. He'd spend hours between your thighs, burning your skin with his beard, if it meant he could divulge in your sweetness.

"It hurts-"

A grunt rumbled in his chest, his arms tugging you back even as your feet kicked along his back. "Just one more honey. Yeah?"

You shook your head. "B-But-"

"Thought you said it was good."

"It is."

"Then lemme be good for you." He wanted to tell you that the world went quiet between your thighs. That all his grief, all his pain, lessened when you sobbed his name.

He wanted to show you the string that looped his heart to yours—the only thing keeping him alive—and thank you for bringing him back from the dead. But words weren't his forte. Violence had become the only tenderness he knew and you didn't deserve the rough edges of an old man. You should have more.

But when you let him touch you like this—caress your skin and lick between your folds—he felt as if he was a man who finally was worthy of someone as precious as you. He could pretend he didn't bear the brunt of a fucked up soul.

The weight on his chest lifted when your tear filled gaze met his and you nodded. Small, barely there, but it was enough for him to seal his mouth back over you with a ragged moan. Your body shook as his tongue slid through the seam of your pussy. The tip nudging against your clit—careful to draw the pleasure from your body slowly.

He didn't want to give you pain. His heart wouldn't survive that. But he was a broken man; someone who begged for more even as his teeth sunk into what was already given.

You were his meal. His sacrament in the midnight hours until dawn broke across the darkened sky. You were the other half of his soul.

How could he not indulge in your sweetened tang until his tongue went stiff?

"I love you," you sighed, eyes rolled back when he sucked at your pussy, a wet low moan echoing in the air. "My p-perfect husband."

The cold press of his wedding band against your thigh drove him over the edge. You weren't officially married. Didn't have the backyard wedding with a preacher to match. But Logan had placed a ring on your finger near a year ago, sliding one over his own with the vow of forever cemented in his words.

Even if that didn't mean much in the eyes of a god who abandoned him near a century ago.

"Oh-"

Your head tipped back, mouth dropping open as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. Thrusting lazily until he found the spongey patch along your walls—driving the pad of his middle finger into it with a needy moan.

He knew it wouldn't take long for you to fly off the edge of a second release. That didn't make watching you climb to that peak any less satisfying. The sight appeased his soul. It gave him a chance to breathe; let him know that after so much bad—after so much pain—he could do something good. He could bring you to the edge of pleasure and drag you over again and again.

He could finally be the man you believed he was.

Not the animal they created.

"C'mon," he muttered. Eyes fixed on the shape of your breasts as your body curved off the bed. Hips dragging along his face with a stunted cry.

A wail bounced off the walls, piercing his eardrums with the symphony of your cries. His fingers rapidly pumped into you with a squelch that had heat burning his cheeks—lips pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth as you broke. The climax slammed into you; battering your already swollen pussy.

Logan could feel his cock swell at the sight.

"Fuckin' perfect," he grunted, teeth bared as he clambered to his knees and wrapped his fist soaked in your slick around his leaking cock. "'M gonna cum sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into his thigh. "Please. Wanna see it baby. Look so pretty when you cum Logan."

His chest tightened, body shaking while you watched in rapture as he fucked his fist rapidly. He wouldn't fucking last, could feel the burning consume his body, but something held him back. The string around his heart yanked him away from the edge, tearing a cry from his throat when his frustration peaked.

You could see it—the glimmer of need in his dark eyes. This wasn't the first time he longed for your words. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

So you spread your legs and sat up slowly—arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring his lips down to yours. A soft moan was muffled by your mouth; the peak of his release within reach. He could practically feel the tips of his fingers graze it.

"Cover my pussy baby," you mumbled into his mouth. "Be good for me and mark what's yours."

The growl came from the very bottom of his chest when he finally came. Your name was a bitten out snarl pressed to your mouth in an open mouth kiss as he spurted over his knuckles. He pumped his cock to milk every drop; eyes fixed on the way it covered the swollen lips of your pussy. Dripping down to your entrance that fluttered at the sight of his sweaty and crimson tinged face.

"I fuckin' love ya honey," he murmured, hand cupping your chin to drag your lips back to his. "Best thing that's happened in my life is you."

You smiled, thumbs pressing to his cheeks. "Love you too Logan."

Clutching you close, he felt the string go loose. The breath finally rushing back into his lungs at the sight of your eyes glowing with the kind of light that brought him back to the first day The night he met you in that shitty bar—alcohol the only thing on his mind until he saw you.

The night you spoke his name over his covered grave and dragged him back to life with a smile.

[happy74827]

Say Yes to Heaven

[Logan Howlett x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes all it takes is one look. One gesture. One word. One action. To remind them that not everyone sees them the same, and It's enough to send a person over the edge.

WC: 3690

Category: Fluff, First Kiss, Logan’s POV

Another Grumpy!Logan x Sunshine!Reader because it’s my comfort trope ✨🫶

『••✎••』

He never realized how much he wanted someone to care for.

It was something he didn't know he desired. A year ago, he didn't care for a single thing. He felt nothing. He was so numb. So empty.

He was an angry man. The kind of man people kept their distance from. Wade ruined that; he aggravated him so much that Logan started actually caring about his life. And for as much as he despised his fugly ass, he was internally grateful for him. He started to open up more and more.

Wade had a part in taking him out of rock bottom, as they say, but you… you aggravated him in the most endearing way possible. You were so bright, so happy, and full of life. Logan couldn't understand how someone could be like that, and he hated you for it. He thought it was so ignorant of you.

"I mean, come on, how could she be that happy all the time? It's fucking dumb. She doesn't even know me!"

That's what he said to Wade, but his roommate only laughed. He found his frustration hilarious and made fun of him constantly.

And don’t even get started on the way you spoke. Never once have you raised your voice at anyone. You always talked softly, and even if you were pissed off, you still found a way to make your words sound gentle.

The man couldn’t wrap his mind around the way you acted, you weren’t a mutant, but you damn well could have been with that forever customer service smile you wore every day.

The level of patience and understanding you held for people was insane to him, especially the amount of patience you held with him.

He was constantly telling you to fuck off, and you took no offense; you just returned that stupidly kind smile and told him that if he needed anything, you were there for him.

You had no clue what he’s done, what he's capable of, and yet you treat him with the utmost respect. And being a mutant, respect, and kindness were two things he hadn’t received in a very long time.

It made him realize things—about himself and others. He started noticing you a little more—the way you looked and the way you acted. It started out as simple confusion and disgust… the typical reactions one would have when one sees an overly happy person.

But it evolved slowly into intrigue and curiosity.

Then something else. Something he couldn't describe.

His first instinct was to push it away. To try and convince himself, he was disgusted. He did this with everything he felt, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself.

It wasn't disgust.

He couldn't name it; he wasn't ready to, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Wade had noticed the change in him, the way he looked at you, the way he started being a little less rough with the words he chose to say. He didn’t bring it up, but the shit-eating grin he gave each time Logan walked in and saw you was more than enough proof that he had picked up on it.

Of course, it only resorted to grins because the one time he opened his mouth, Logan didn’t restrain himself. He popped his claws and had to go couch shopping the next day.

Whoops.

So, with Wade keeping his mouth shut after being chewed out by Blind Al and Logan trying his best to push away the foreign feelings, it finally reached a point where he could no longer ignore them.

He didn’t understand why, of all nights, it had to be this one, but it was.

It was 3 am, and his old nightmares had come back to haunt him. He was restless, sweaty, and couldn't take another second of sleep.

It took a rinsing of the bathroom sink and a pitiful glare at his reflection for you to return his gaze.

He froze for a second.

You were wearing a large T-shirt, with a pair of shorts underneath. Your hair was messy, but it looked so soft, and your face was clear of makeup, leaving the imperfections of your skin that made you all the more beautiful.

Always wearing a smile. Always greeting him with a soft voice, sometimes a little raspy if just waking up, butnonetheless soft.

But once he rubbed his eyes and let out a tired yawn, you weren’t there anymore.

Because you were never there, you lived across the street. You were in your apartment, sleeping, with no idea that, at that moment, the man who constantly told you to fuck off realized he couldn't stop thinking about you.

The same man who would grunt, scoff, and throw away every kind gesture now realized he secretly cherished them.

He stood there for a moment, just pondering his thoughts. His eyes were still on the spot he saw you in.

His head turned to the right, seeing the digital clock that rested on the nightstand.

3:02 am.

You were asleep…. most likely asleep. You would be unhappy if he came over and woke you up, wouldn't you?

He looked back at the sink.

You could be upset, but you could also be happy. You could give him that smile. That sweet, warm smile.

It would be worth it, right? Just for that?

3:04 am

He didn’t think about it. Not even for a second. Ironically, it started raining as if to test him, but the man was determined.

He put on a jacket to cover his bare chest, threw on some random shoes, and was out the door before his mind could stop him.

3:13 am

He knocked on your apartment door. He was completely drenched from the rain. His hair was messy, his jacket sticking to his body, and his shoes were so wet that the squelching sound they made was the only thing audible.

He heard shuffling. Soft steps coming closer. He could smell your scent. It shocked him how easy it was for him to recognize it.

You unlocked the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

His mental image of you being in sleepwear, messy hair, no makeup, had been confirmed. You were beautiful.

You had a tired look, one of the many looks he wasn’t used to. But it was still a good look, and it still held your signature kindness.

He had a feeling it would.

You didn't look too shocked, just tired and confused.

You spoke. "Logan, is…? Are you okay?"

Your voice was even softer than usual, the raspiness it held only making it more comforting.

You were genuinely worried about him, and it hit him then that he was being an asshole. Making you wake up in the middle of the night, and for what? Just because he wanted to see you?

Just because of that, he should’ve given you a reason. An explanation.

He should've asked. He should have done so many things differently, but he didn’t.

His head was in the clouds, and all he could think about was you.

You. That was all.

But his expression gave away that he was in a daze, and your worry only grew.

"Logan? What's wrong?"

You stepped out into the hallway and reached a hand to him.

His heart jumped a bit when you did so. It was just a gesture—one simple act of compassion.

He wasn't worthy of that, but he couldn't resist. He didn't want to.

Your fingers barely brushed against his upper arm before he moved. He grabbed your wrist.

His grip wasn't hard. His hold was gentle, as he had no intentions of hurting you. You could’ve easily pulled your arm away if you wanted to, but you didn't.

His eyes locked with yours. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but it felt so right, so he followed his instincts.

He tugged at your wrist, causing your body to fall into him. Your chest pressed against his. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other resting on the small of your back.

The embrace was so sudden, and he knew the situation was far from ideal, but his senses were overflowed by your presence, your scent, your softness.

His chin rested atop your head, and his eyes fluttered closed.

It wasn’t the first time he ever hugged someone, but it was the first time he hugged someone in such a way. He held onto you tightly, his grip possessive but not painful.

He was afraid to let go.

He felt your hands press against his chest. You were probably going to push him away, he thought, and he tried to prepare himself. He told himself he would let you go because it was the right thing to do, yet he didn’t need to.

You hugged him back, and he almost lost his footing.

How long had it been since he last received a hug? Since the last time, someone held him and showed him affection?

Too long.

Your hands went inside his opened jacket and held onto him. Your fingers pressed against his skin, and your soft, warm breaths caressed his neck.

He could stay like this for eternity, and he would never grow tired of it.

Your voice reached his ears.

"Logan, did something happen?"

He had been standing there for quite a while. He wasn’t aware of how long. Time seemed to freeze around you, but he didn’t mind. He wasn't one to believe in such nonsense, but when it came to you, he was ready to accept it.

Your hand rested on his arm, and he knew you were subtly prompting him to move, and so he did.

He pulled away from the hug just enough to look at you.

Your lips were turned upwards. The corners of your eyes creased.

"Logan?"

It was then that his actions registered—how utterly close the two of you were, how intimately you were holding each other. He was already warm just from genetics alone, but now he felt everything around him heat up.

"I-"

He didn't know what to say. It was like he was back in that bar, drinking away every thought. He couldn't think. There was nothing. Nothing but the feel of your body against his.

But what truly sealed the deal was when he felt your thumb gently caress his knuckles. It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but it was centered exactly on the scars his claws made.

That little movement made his brain short-circuit. His hands twitched. His grip tightened. He held onto you with his entire body as if scared to let you go.

"What happened?"

You were patient with him. The fact that he hadn’t even answered any of your concerns said enough.

But, eventually, he did find some words to respond with. It wasn’t the answer you were searching for, but it was a response.

"Why are you always being so fucking kind?"

It was such a simple question, and yet the amount of pain it carried was overwhelming. He knew you could hear every word behind it. Every word he couldn't bring himself to say.

He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a good man. He did horrible things, and sure… he made an attempt to make up for it. To be better, but it couldn’t have been enough, could it?

You were still here, looking at him with those soft eyes.

Why couldn't you look at him the way he deserved to be looked at? Like he was a monster.

Why did you have to look at him with those goddamn beautiful eyes?

"You deserve kindness, Logan. We all do."

And then, your voice became even softer and a little shaky. Your hands went back to massaging his knuckles. His scars.

"Just because you see yourself a certain way doesn’t mean the rest of us do. I see the good in you. Always have since we first met."

You spoke so softly, yet your words were heavy with emotion.

"I know it's not easy, but try to have a little more faith in yourself."

You didn’t deserve the harsh words he always threw at you. You didn’t deserve any of his anger. You didn't deserve him.

"Why?" He repeated his question, his voice strained, and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched. "Why should I?"

His arms loosened their hold around you; his hands moved down your sides, and his touch feathered light. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t quite let go just yet.

You paid it no mind. Only staring back into his eyes with the same kindness he was so used to, the one he had grown to treasure.

"You have a right to feel the way you do, Logan. And I can't claim to understand what you've been through. I can't begin to imagine. But you are a good man. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but you’ve shown me time and time again that you're trying."

A smile crept its way onto your face, and a soft giggle escaped past your lips.

Now, to be fair, he was used to hearing your laughter. With your… odd sense of humor, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. But, this would be one of the firsts to add to his collection.

The one reserved for him and him only.

Your laughter wasn’t loud, or annoying, or anything like Wade's. It was soft, sweet, and oh-so pleasant.

You were looking at him. Staring up at him with such love and warmth. You didn't even realize it, but he did.

"Besides, who wouldn't be a little grouchy waking up to that handsome face every morning?"

And, now, he was repulsed by the unwelcome vision of a certain masked man making his way into his head. He was so disgusted by the thought he didn’t bother responding. He didn't want to.

So, instead, he moved.

He had a habit of moving on his own and not thinking about it. It went from his hands going to your sides, and now, his hands reaching out to press against the door behind you.

You were pinned against the door, and the way you looked at him didn’t change. Of course, it didn't. Your eyes were always kind. They always were.

You were leaning against the door. Looking at him, waiting.

And he stared back.

He was so close, and he was tempted to pull away. To take a step back and leave. It would be the best for both of you; at least, he thinks so.

He couldn't give you anything.

He had nothing.

There was only himself. His body. His mind. His past.

His claws, too, if that counted for anything.

But, besides those, there was nothing.

He wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn't good either. Not like you were. He couldn’t possibly begin to match you, not even if he tried.

Which is why he had no intention of trying.

Yet, even as he thought that, his body moved even closer. The dog tags he had never taken off since he was given them hung loosely, dangling in front of your face.

One of your hands was on his chest, the other gripping onto the material of his shirt.

"Logan."

You spoke his name so softly. Almost a whisper, and yet, the sound of it was all his senses were focused on.

Your gaze shifted between his eyes and lips, and the hand that had been holding onto his shirt moved, reaching up to his shoulder.

The touch was light, as if hesitant, and it caused him to lean even closer.

It was so close. You were so close. You had been before, but never like this. Never in the way he wanted.

He wanted you so badly.

And you were right there. Looking at him with those eyes, with a soft, tender smile, and with an expression he didn't recognize.

He knew that was an invitation. You were always an open book, and your body language was no different.

And it wasn't the first time you did so.

There were many times when you looked at him. Your eyes trailing over his face. Your gaze went downwards, lingering before you snapped out of it and looked away.

He always saw it, always knew it was there, but he just chose to ignore it. He wasn’t in the right mind, then. He was just another broken man, struggling to get by, trying his best.

Trying to find some meaning in his life.

But, even now, he was still hesitant. Even after coming all the way here and making his intentions clear, he struggled with it.

"Are you sure?"

Because you were so much better than him.

Because he could still remember the day the two of you met. How much of an asshole he was, how rude, how angry.

It wasn’t until the seventh time you approached him that he realized that he had met someone who genuinely, wholeheartedly cared.

It wasn't until the twentieth time you approached him that he finally accepted it.

He could never forget the way you smiled and spoke to him, even though he had given you no reason to.

"Hi, Logan!"

You would say.

"Good morning!"

You would wave.

"Have a nice day, Logan."

You would nod, even though the man himself chose to ignore you. Goddamn it. You were so much better than him.

Much purer. Much more innocent.

You had a heart of gold, and a soul as white as snow. You were so good, so kind, and the thought of soiling you, of ruining your light with his darkness, it scared him.

It was the sole reason he didn't give in, even now, with you offering yourself to him.

He didn't want to ruin you.

"Yes."

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Your eyes were so kind. So full of love, and the same emotion reflected back in his own.

But, even with the clear sign of assurance, he still felt the need to create one last line of defense.

With the hand against the door, he peeled it back enough to have your eyes catch sight of the fist it made.

In a millisecond, he unleashed his claws and slammed his fist against the door, the sharp adamantium easily slicing through the wood, causing the door to crack.

And, yet, no reaction. Not a single flinch, not a wince, not even a hitch of breath.

You weren't afraid. Not at all. Even as the claws were mere inches from your face, you weren't scared.

The corners of your mouth twitched. Upwards, and it soon bloomed into a bright smile.

He retracted his claws, and gave you another once-over, just to be sure, and you responded by lifting your hand, grasping the metal chain hanging from his neck.

Your fingers grazed against the cool metal, and your smile softened before turning into a small grin.

"For a man who states he isn’t scared of anything, you sure have a lot of defense mechanisms, Logan."

Teasing. That was a new one for you.

He liked it.

"Say it again." Now, finally, you showed a different expression. Confusion mixed with curiosity. You were wondering what he meant. "My name."

"Logan."

For you, his actions were mere seconds. You had no time to process the feeling of his breath against your lips. The feeling of his stubble tickling your skin. The feeling of his warm, dry lips pressed against yours.

But, for him, it was a slow, steady motion. He took his time. He pulled you closer, his hands moving from the door and cupping the back of your head and your waist.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing rushed.

He held you like you were fragile. Like you were made of porcelain and could break at any moment. He could, theoretically, but he would rather go through Cassandra’s entire repertoire of torture than hurt you.

He lifted you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck, his own pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin.

You tasted exactly how you were. Pure. Sweet.

Like heaven.

He was sure he was leaving that of the bitter alcohol he had downed on your lips, but you didn't seem fussy about it.

Not that he could focus on anything else, anyway.

He was too distracted by the way his tongue danced with yours.

Too focused on the taste of your mouth.

Too distracted by the way your hands made themselves a home in his wet hair. They would tug every once in a while, releasing a groan he hadn’t known was there.

He was too distracted to care.

He was too lost in your scent. Wade always called him that character from that shity vampire movie due to his nose.

He always disagreed until you happened to mention the resemblance. Then, and only then, did he see the logic.

And you saw the logic here, too—the logic of how good you melted together. Experiencing it now made him question his decision to stay away.

If it was always going to be this good, this intoxicating, he should’ve done it a long time ago.

He should've taken the chance.

It would've saved the two of you a lot of frustration, and a lot of headaches.

But it didn't matter. He was here now.

And, as his foot broke into the door, mouth still latched onto yours, with him figuring his way about your apartment, he thought:

It doesn't matter.

As long as I’m here.

As long as you’re in my arms.

It doesn't matter.

Fortunately, that meant he didn’t have to wake up to that toupee-stapled face every morning, as he had so dreadfully imagined.

Unfortunately, it also meant that the next time he saw Wade, he would have to deal with him talking his ears off about what had transpired.

But, for now, he could live with that.

He was more focused on the fact on making sure you weren’t regretting your choice.

Because he sure as fuck didn’t.

[secretsandwriting]

heyyyy ryyyyy <333

since ur requests are open i thought id go ahead and ask if you're mayhaps open to anything for batmom? i don't have a completely solid idea but maybe smn like batmom has been getting threats or maybe hate or smn from somebody and everyone's reactions and how they get hella protective?

obv no pressure and you definitely do not have to write this

hope you have a great day bb

Heyyyyy, so this grew hands and wrote itself, I hope you enjoy it. It did end up with a lot of backstory.

Earned Position

5.3k words

You knew this would happen. Once your relationship with Bruce got out there would be an influx of love and hate. You also knew that everyone else knew that as well. It was common knowledge than anyone around a celebrity of sorts would experience that. 

Of course you did the normal things, turned off most notifications and only looked through areas online you knew would mostly be safe. You blocked tags and and only followed people you knew or ones who didn’t post about drama. 

When you did stumble onto hate, you moved on. If someone kept sending you nasty messages you blocked them, when they made other accounts to keep sending the same things, you changed your settings so only those you followed could message you. 

It wasn’t something you wanted to deal with but it was something you could handle. Something you started mentally preparing yourself for when Bruce’s attention on you lasted more than 4 dates, even more so when you caught yourself daydreaming about him.

You were not going to let random bitter people on the internet destroy your happiness like they did their own. Your family however, wanted to destroy what was left of your haters' happiness. Something you were trying to curb, but trying to tell a family of vigilantes who considered you the best mom in existence not to destroy your haters was like talking to a brick wall. Over the years, you had gotten used to it. It barely even registered anymore. But there had been a recent influx of the hate and while it didn’t bother you, it bothered the rest of your family. None of them could stand people talking bad about their mom.

While you hadn’t been there while the older ones were young, the second you had introduced yourself to them, you had taken a very important role in their lives. None of them realizing it at first. All of them had gotten used to the random women Bruce brought home that it took a little while for them to realize how important you were. 

Dick wasn’t sure at first. Thinking you were just another girlfriend that wouldn’t last long. So he didn’t really interact with you much. Ignoring your existence when it wasn’t too rude, or at least obviously rude. Until one night when he was staying at the manor and had a nightmare about his parents death. 

Bruce had an open bed policy. As long as there was still room for him, his bed was open. A policy he had started when Dick had gotten old enough he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed to go when he had a nightmare. Bruce had always reminded all his kids, that nightmares don’t go away just because you’re older and that needing comfort wasn’t something they would outgrow. 

The thing was, you were there. Girlfriends didn’t mind when children did it but they never liked it when his adult kids did it. The shaking in his hands and the way he saw them fall in the darkness of every blink told him the only way he was getting any sleep was with someone. 

Hopefully he could just slip into Bruce’s side and leave before you woke up. That was the plan until he found Damian on Bruce’s side and you had been pulled closer to Bruce taking up what was left. You moved a little and Dick took that as his sign to deal with it himself until he heard you whisper his name. He hummed so you knew it was him and not some random stranger standing over Bruce’s side of the bed. 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” You lifted the blanket next to you, “Bruce told me you guys come here when you have nightmares. There's plenty of room over here for you.” Dick hesitated for a second before giving in. He needed sleep anyway. You weren’t when you said there was plenty of room, Dick had most of your half of the bed. Once he had settled on his side, facing away from you, he felt you pull the blanket over his shoulders. 

“Night Dick, sleep well.” For some reason, that was what did it. Once the tears started they didn’t stop. Silent sobs made him shudder and he felt one of your hands gently rubbing his back. “Oh Dick.” There was no pity in your tone and he found himself rolling over and curling into you. Your chin resting on his head while you rubbed his back. 

The next day, he followed you around like a puppy. Your side of the bed became his favorite when he had nightmares and it wasn’t long before he turned to you for general comfort over anything.

Jason met you at his grave. Neither of you exchanged words, but he caught something in your gaze he didn’t quite understand. He also wasn’t sure why you were at his grave either, he didn’t know you when he was younger. 

When he saw the Gotham News post about Bruce and Your 2nd anniversary, it brought more questions than answers. Why were you at his grave alone? Let alone longer than a few seconds. It was an odd way to gain more of Bruce’s affections. 

Every Tuesday you would be there, leaving flowers and talking softly to the stone. Every time you left, you would smile and nod, the look in your eyes he couldn’t figure out was still there. Every time he would strain to heat what you were saying and only be able yo a few words here and there. 

6 months into it, the routine changed. You brought a blanket and Basket with your usual flowers. You did what you normally did with the flowers but instead of talking to the stone you waved him over. When he didn’t move, you stopped what you were doing and looked at him. 

“Jason Todd, I have been keeping your secret for 6 months. Helping me spread this blanket and having lunch won’t change it.” He stared at you while you waited expectantly. Eventually when he could get himself to move, he came over and helped. He sat down where you motioned for him too, all while trying to figure out how you knew.

“Bruce mentioned this used to be your favorite when you were younger so I asked Alfred to teach me how to make it. I hope it's up to your standards.” He looked at the plate of food you handed him. It was almost overflowing with food, all of which reminded him of the good times back at the manor before he died. “Alfred also sent your favorite cookies when he heard I would be eating at your grave.” The bag of cookies was placed next to the basket, within easy reach.

“Why?” Was all Jason managed to choke out around the lump in his throat.

“I decided early on in life, no matter who I was with, I would love their family as my own. My grandfather hated my grandmothers side and it caused a lot of pain in all the generations. I decided I would never do that to another family.” Jason found himself back in control enough to start eating. 

“So when I started dating Bruce and he told me about you, I decided to treat you like you were my own. Even though I had never met you and you were dead. Most of what that meant was keeping your grave clean and always making sure there were fresh flowers. While I did that, I would tell you everything that was going on.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eyes, they may be a different color but they looked too similar. So I did a little digging and found pictures of your biological pictures to place the face shape it matched. I think however you look more like Bruce then either of them.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“As much as I would love to. It’s your choice. You’ve been keeping this to yourself for a reason. If I can help you get to a place to tell them, I would love to. But I won’t say a word until you're ready. However, I would like to keep having lunch with you.” 

A year later, Jason reintroduced himself to the rest of the family a lot calmer than originally planned and was glued to your side anytime he felt overwhelmed that night. Every Tuesday after that, lunch was scheduled.

Tim was nervous when it came to you. He was still living in the manor so he saw you more than the older two. You always seemed nice and respected his privacy but Bruce was always with you so you obviously would. 

It was when he wasn’t around that worried Tim. Bruce attracted golddiggers and they were always mean when Bruce wasn’t there. When you were given a copy of the key, Time braced himself. 

Of course he knew that if he told Bruce anything that happened like that, Bruce would break it off. He had always told them that they came first. But he also knew that Bruce liked you a lot. All the other ones Bruce liked a lot that turned out to be horrible, he broked it off. Tim had seen how it had made him upset and he really hated doing that to him. Maybe he could deal with it for once. 

So when Bruce left for a business trip, Tim was Expecting the worst. What he didn’t expect was for you to knock on his door and ask if you could join him. When he agreed and stepped back so you could come in. He expected you to go to his bed or his desk chair not, the oversized bean bag on the floor.

“I have a question for you but you can’t tell Bruce yet.” Here it comes. “What would a funny way to tell him I know he’s Batman?” Tim wasn’t expecting that one. “I was thinking a lot of batpuns but his paranoia is too bad for that.”

“How did you figure it out?” You walked him through your process and didn’t say anything as he wrote parts of it down. Once you finished explaining the process for Bruce, you explained any way it was modified in figuring out their identities.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Red Robin.” Tim found himself getting excited. 

“You know those notes you leave him in his office?” You nodded. “You should leave those in the Batcave.” You considered it but your thinking was interrupted but Tim shouting. 

“No! One night when we’re all in the cave, you could bring some snacks!” 

“You just want snacks when he’s lecturing you don’t you?”

“Maybe..”

“Alright, but you have to tell the others so they can tell me what snack they want.”

So Tim slowly and carefully went through all his siblings, letting them know you figured it out, Bruce didn’t know, and what the plan is. Every time he relayed a snack to you he’d watch how carefully you’d write it out to make sure you had it correct or look up recipes if you couldn’t find it in stores. 

Two weeks later, Tim was the one who sent the signal in the middle of a lecture everyone was receiving and he got a front row seat to see Bruce’s face when you walked in and handed out snacks before giving him a kiss and telling him to be nice and leaving. 

Any other worries were left in the dust when you helped him win the nerf war for the best seat in the home theater. He thoroughly enjoyed his spot next to you while Bruce swore revenge from the other side of the room.

Damian treated you politely but that was it. His mother was still alive and he didn’t want another one, one was more than enough. Not only that, but you were weird. 

One time when you were over, you found one of his report cards. Immediately you were praising him. He didn’t understand why, he had basically failed one of his classes with an A-. You should be disappointed like his mother would be, not hanging it up on the fridge and telling people not to touch it. Definitely not taking him out for ice cream and calling him so smart. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he walked past it, but he still was. 

When he was practicing his violin and Messed up, you were supposed to tell him to stop failing, that he should be better. Not smiling at him and telling him he’s making good progress. You should be telling him that he should have memorized that piece in a day. He shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he finally does memorize it, it took him 4 days to learn it.

When he was struggling to learn a language, you were supposed to tell him to work harder. He could do better, after all, he already knew so many. Instead you just smiled and recommended a break to refresh his mind. 

When he snapped at you in Arabic, he expected you to be upset since you didn’t know what he said and it was obviously not something nice. Instead you set the rule that if he was going to use Arabic to speak to you when upset, that he had to teach it to you and if what he said wasn’t something you had learned yet, he had to tell you in english. When he told you what it meant, you didn’t even get upset. He definitely shouldn’t be as excited as he was when you actually started learning. 

So many more little things piled up, leaving Damian confused. The differences between how you and his mother treated him was so big he didn’t know how to process it, he liked you and all the little things made him happy in a way he hadn’t really felt. But he still loved his mom, When he had enough of it, he asked you to stop. He still wanted to love his mom. Once again, you did something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh Damian, I’m not trying to replace your mom nor am I trying to make you feel like you can’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Your mom and I show our love in different ways and its ok for you to love or like both of us. You mother loves you and she will always be allowed in your life if thats what you want.” You weren’t supposed to do that, but Damian was really glad you did.

Barbara wasn’t sure how you would react to her. She wasn’t just Bruce’s kid. She had a loving family she went back to every night. Most people weren’t really a fan of that, one of Bruce’s past girlfriends had some strong and hurtful things to say about it. 

When you took her for a day out, she found herself warming up to you but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the new places you had planned to go, didn’t have wheelchair access. Like all the other girlfriends who had done this, she expected you to be annoyed that your plans had to change or you would just leave her outside while you shopped. 

You didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, just looking at what was next on your list and starting the trip there. When Barbara stared a little longer at a new movie that was in theaters, tickets and snacks were bought and you listed to all the lore she told you about before it started.

While it had been a nice day, Barbara wasn’t convinced. One day was easy to fake. Sure she had lots of fun, but Barbara was used to fakes when it came to Bruce’s girlfriends. Of course she wasn’t complaining about you being nice, she just wasn’t sure how long it would last. 

“Did you hear about that boutique?” She looked up from her food to look at her dad. “That new one that you tried to go to with Bruce’s girlfriend? Well there was a report that it didn’t meet the Americans with Disabilities act and the boutique is in trouble. People are speculating they’ll have to close down.”

Later that night, Barbara looked into it. They were in trouble, pretty big trouble from the looks of it. Towards the end of the article she found the name of the person who reported it, she wasn’t sure who she was expecting. Not you for sure but the Name Y/n L/n took her by surprise and filled her chest with feelings she couldn’t describe. 

The boutique ended up closing but a new one opened. Once it was open, you were the first to ask her to go. That weird feeling came back when she wheeled herself up the ramp and through the door you held open for her. Later that night, in the privacy of her room. She decided she liked you. 

Steph seemed like she liked you, she acted like she liked you, she didn’t really like you. Sure you were nice, Bruce loved you, the others were warming up to you, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about you. So she stuck with not actually liking you but pretending to. 

So when she was around you, it was all smiles and jokes. She wasn’t a big fan of it all but she did it because she knew you were important to Bruce and that was enough of a reason for her. She knew Bruce and the others could see through the act but as long as you couldn’t, that was enough. 

When Bruce announced he had to leave for a business trip right before she could hand him the parents visit for one of her AP classes, something the new teacher liked doing. She tucked the paper away. When Tim gave her a questioning look, she shook her head and later swore him to silence. 

Every time she heard someone mention their parents were going, she felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. Every time Tim mentioned bringing it up to you, she swore him into silence again. It wouldn’t be the first time no one showed up for her. She was however thankful you wouldn’t be at the manor as much so she didn’t have to pretend to like you.

When the day arrived, Steph was not having a good day. School dragged on slowly. Slower than normal. When school finally ended, she had to sit in the classroom and watch everyone else that was in her class leave and the parents of her classmates show up while no one was there or coming for her.

Someone sat in the seat next to her, she expected another family member of one of her classmates. Definitely not you. She couldn’t return your smile, too unsure of how you found out, the fact you actually showed up, and how she felt about you being there. You leaned a little closer so that the others in the room wouldn’t easily overhear. 

“I know I’m not your parent and someone you just pretend to like so if you want me to leave I will. But I figured someone was better then no one. Oh, and Tim wanted me to tell you he didn’t spill. Your teacher called the manor because no one had RSVPed for you and I answered it.”

That night, as Steph showed off all her hard work to you, the charade fell. She actually enjoyed her time with you and the boost of pride as you oohed and ahhed over all her projects and listened to her explain all the little details. That night, Steph realized, she didn’t need to keep pretending. She liked you, until she found out you didn’t like her favorite show but a nerf war solved that. 

Cass could tell you were different then the other girlfriends, your body language as you interacted with all of them showed it. However that didn’t mean she knew how to interact with you.

She had learned that she was fairly hard for new people to interact with. She also knew she had trouble interacting with people she wasn’t fighting. So it wasn’t a surprise when it started rocky. 

What was a surprise, was when you found out she was still having trouble reading and writing, you stepped in to help. Well, that wasn’t the surprising part, a lot of girlfriends did that. The surprising part was the amount of patience you had when it was only the two of you. 

When one method didn’t help, you tried another. Never once did you snap at her or call her a name. Everytime you got frustrated you would stop and look at her, say something along the lines of “If I had as much trouble with this as you do, I wouldn’t want to keep trying. You're doing absolutely amazing! I’ll keep looking for other ideas, but for now, lets take a break and get a treat.” 

Cass wasn’t sure why that always made her feel better, but it did. Every treat you brought was something you made just for the tutoring sessions and it always reminded her of what Alfred had told her once. “Something made with love for you will always taste better.”

And when a method that made it a little easier to learn was found, Cass found herself smiling along with your cheers. Bad days where she couldn’t seem to make any progress were always met with the same excitement, cheers, patience, and treats that all the others were. 

Cass still wasn’t sure of what to think of you exactly, but she knew she liked you and that you cared about her.

So when Tim saw the new rise in hate, a sibling meeting was called. They all went through each site, blood boiling as they saw what people were saying about their new parent. Plans were made, declarations of war were ready, and anger fueled all of them. Bruce could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was and as long as it didn’t get out of had, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with it. 

War was declared in an interview by Steph. The lady was asking questions when the topic switched to Bruce, then you. The reporter was clearly trying to subtly find some dirt on you and Steph was not going to stand for it.

“Oh yeah! Y/n! She’s the best!” She put on her best press face. Trying to hide her anger over the hidden intent. She didn’t have to lie or act when talking about you but the change in the lady’s face going to disappointment when she didn’t get anything she wanted was making her look very punchable. 

“She’s always showing up for us and making sure we’re doing ok. If Y/n and Bruce were to break up, I think most of us would go with Y/n.” The way the lady kept trying to get anything really got on her nerves and Steph decided she needed to get out of there before she started using the lady’s face for target practice. You wouldn’t like that.

Cass was the first one to resort to violence. They had asked a thinly veiled question, basically asking if you were a golddigger. So she punched him in the nose and leaned down to flip the camera off. She hated interviews already but that made it so much worse. She hoped you wouldn’t be too upset with her punching the guy though.

Jason, surprisingly enough. Did not get violent… physically. He did however curse one out and threaten him when the reporter implied you were forcing them to say nice things. When the reporter kept pressing Jason broke his mic and told him if he ever heard him talking bad about you again, a broken mic would be the last of his worries. Jason knew you would be disappointed but he had held back, he didn’t shoot the guy like he wanted.

Tim threw his coffee at one reporter because he heard them say you were nothing but a regular person who didn’t deserve any attention. He then took over her segment, threatening the company to air it or he would make sure they went bankrupt. Once he finished his threats, anything he said was praising you name. Telling everyone how amazing you were and how much they all loved you.

Barbara made it a point to bring up everything you did for the community when they tried to throw some shade at you in an interview. She had documents to prove it and hacked their systems to add them into the interview so they couldn’t claim it was fake. She also made sure to run over his foot when she left. 

Dick punched a reporter when they tried to ask him what you were really like behind closed doors. He told them the truth, that you were just as good, kind, patient, and loving behind closed doors as you were out in public. He didn’t throw a punch until the reporter disregarded that as asked again because she couldn’t be that good. Dick knew a lecture would be coming once you saw, but he would rather sit through a lecture then let anyone tarnish your name.

Damian spent 10 minutes cursing and threatening a reporter in Arabic when they asked him if you had ever hurt him. When he was done, he told them in english, that if he ever got asked that question again, he would impale them. He knew you were going to make him sit down and translate everything and the general response you would give but he didn’t care, no one speaks bad about either of his mothers.

Bruce figured out what was going on after Steph’s interview. He saw the ones where they assaulted or threatened the reporters and made sure his lawyers were on standby to keep the kids out of trouble. After all, he had seen more than they had. 

He had watched as you tried to connect with Dick early on, how you worked hard to try and get somewhere. He had woken up before you when Dick had come in that night and heard how you handled it. He had woken up the next morning to find you holding Dick close, like you were trying to protect him from the nightmares. He had seen how you never turned Dick down when he wanted comfort, no matter how serious or silly the matter, and he had heard your excitement when you told him Dick liked you.

Bruce had seen the way you never missed a visit to Jason’s grave, on a visit of his own, he saw how much care you showed the stone marking it as his lost son. While he hadn’t been sure why it was alway the same time on Tuesday, he didn;t mention it. He felt the way you would sob in his arms after each visit, a year after the tradition started, you always said you had promised not to tell and he watched as you kept that promise even if it tore you to pieces. Once the shock and tears wore off for a little bit, he could see the trust that Jason had in you.

He heard the way you questioned if you should have a key to the manor, you didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable in his own home, or how you questioned if you should visit while he was gone. Not wanting to stress Tim out when there was no reason too. He saw the way you and Tim grinned at each other when you brought snacks down for all the kids he was currently lecturing. He head the excitement in your voice as you told him about the tour Tim had given you of the Batcave and the shared laughter as you and Tim worked together to win the nerf war.

Bruce saw how you worked to give Damian the affection he didn’t think he needed. He felt you crying in his arms upset over the fact Damian thought you would be angry because he made a mistake or struggled in a class. He heard you practicing your Arabic as you got ready for bed and he watched as you stress paced over whether or not you said the right thing to him about his mother. 

He saw how angry you had been when you came back from your day out with Barbara. He had heard your call with your lawyer as you tried to figure out what to do. He saw you going through the laws and making a list to make sure your lawyer didn’t miss any. He heard about the movie you didn’t particularly care about and the lore you remembered in case of another because you wanted Barbara to have someone she could tell all of her favorite things too. 

Bruce saw the pictures you had taken from the school night. He heard all the details from you as you praised Steph’s work. He saw the way Steph stopped acting around you and the silly arguments the two of you would get into for fun. He heard the way you would listen to her as she verbally worked out her problems. He saw the way Steph looked for you in a crowd, the way she knew you were there but not where you stood exactly, the thought of you not being there never crossed her. 

He saw the way you stayed up late, researching different ways to teach reading and writing. He heard the patience and kindness and you worked with Cass. He saw the way you always made a treat just for Cass to have after each lesson because you wanted to reward her hard work. He heard the way you cried for Cass when she had a bad day and got frustrated with herself because you knew she was smart and you wanted her to see it too. He heard your celebrations when Cass made any progress, no matter the size. 

Bruce heard, saw, and felt the way you worked hard to have a relationship with his kids. How you had mourned for their losses, celebrated their wins, and felt their pain. He saw the way his kids blossomed under your care, growing to be better and more confident in themselves. The way you cared for them as if they were your own flesh and blood. So when he was asked about his kids behavior, he said as much. 

“Y/n has worked hard to be accepted by them. She’s given so much of her time, effort, patience, and love and never wanted anything in return. She always shows up for them, no matter what the occasion is, big or small, it doesn’t matter. If they want her there, she’ll be there. Everytime they need or want her, she’s there. She never judges them and treats them as if they were her own blood. Of course their upset and lashing out, people are insulting the woman who has cared for them more then most of their biological mothers.”

Later, a clip of you scolding Bruce and all the kids went viral. While you were scolding them over their behavior and making the kids who had reacted with violence or threats write apology letters because asking mean questions does not make it right to respond badly especially when its someone just trying to start drama. Everyone one noticed that there was no actual bite to your tone and no anger when they all refused to stop acting like that. In fact, there was a small soft smile on your face as you shook your head at your family.

[foolinafable]

your wildest dream, his nightmare

Five Hargreeves x Reader Synopsis: Walking into Max’s diner as a respite after you and Five are seemingly stuck you don’t think you could’ve imagined a better outcome surrounded by various versions of your lover. At the same time, for him it’s nothing more than a bad dream he hopes will end soon. Word count: 760 Tags: Fluff, Jealous Five, Crackfic Note: This small fic because it's funny to imagine jealous Five being jealous of himself

“Come on”

Five grabbed your hand as he led you out of the tube to, probably, another timeline. It must have been a few hours the two of you had been stuck in this place going station to station still with no idea how to get back. 

You turned left but instead of being greeted with the usual blankness for Five to scribble about in his notebook you instead were somewhat blinded by the light of a sign.

‘Max’s delicatessen.’ You made eye contact with Five to the side of you before tilting your head with a nod towards the building. He simply followed your lead before quickly grabbing the door to let you in first. 

You turned back to smile in thanks when you noticed his shocked expression, head quickly turned back towards the diner at a call of your name to see the whole diner was made up of your lover. Looking back to Five, your Five, in bewilderment a shocked smile on your face.

The look on your face seemed to take him out of his stupor clearing his throat before leading you into the diner- trying to find an empty table for you to sit at. He was quickly stopped by another Five, one sat on his own, and gestured for the two of you to sit opposite him. Five begrudgingly agreed as he realised the restaurant was at max capacity. No spare table in sight.

You quickly shuffled onto the brown bench when the other Five spoke 

“It’s rare to see one of you around here” he smiled happy to see you

“Maybe this is not my typical scene” you rebutted a cheeky smile on your face that the Five opposite you seemed to enjoy, dimple now showing from smiling so wide

“Maybe” he breathed out in a laugh 

Before you could continue to speak with this version of Five another one appeared in front of you, this one not wearing a suit or vest. He quickly placed down a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich in front of your Five. He then turned to you placing a very familiar drink in front of you

“Your favourite” he declared when you looked confused  

“How did you know?” You smiled at him eyebrows furrowing as his cheeks went red

“We all know your favourites” he shrugged as if it was the most normal thing in the world

“Um- Thanks” you nodded your head in gratitude 

“Anything for the missus” he mumbled before leaving to go back to the kitchen 

You took a sip of your drink when your Five spoke irritated “What was that about?” a hand possessively stroking at your thigh 

“A lot of us having seen our version of her in a long time” the other Five spoke wistfully   

“How sad” you stated before turning around in your seat you waved and greeted the Fives around you who all became quite delighted at your attention all greeting you with a similar bravado.

“Okay.” Five declared “I think we are done here” he quickly at up pulling you up with him by grabbing hold of your hand once more 

“But we just got here, can’t we stay a little longer and rest?” you asked not wanting to leave. I mean why would you, surrounded by multiple versions of the man who loved you, say no to having his attention on you?

“No, we need to get back to my family in our timeline, come on. We are wasting time.” he rebutted practically pulling you away from the diner seemingly getting even more annoyed as the other Fives shouted goodbyes towards you.

“I didn’t realise I was so annoying, that was a nightmare” Five claimed as you sat on a train hopefully taking you back home

“Sure you weren’t jealous?” you quipped staring at him mischievously

“No” he grumbled arms crossing against his chest

“Then you won’t mind if I-” you spoke moving towards the doors to go back to the diner, quickly shutting up when Five grabbed your hands pulling you back onto the seat beside him. You simply smiled at his look of false ire towards you as the train started to move. Resting your head on his shoulder as he let a smile grace his features giving a kiss to the top of your head.

You hope that at some point you will get to return to the diner- a place you have just coined akin to heaven on earth.               

[reshinless]

──── day 2: dnd on the hotel door.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. wherein your friends give him.. more than just suggestive photos at your wedding. (you had a private boudoir photoshoot prior to it!)

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. kinich, neuvillette, zhongli, tartaglia, capitano x gn!afab!reader. !!NSFW/SUGGESTIVE CONTENT!!

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. saw a cute tt of this exact topic (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) will do diff characters next week!

kinich who'd already been so nervous for whatever was to come on this day; he was always more than willing. he knew the first laugh you both shared. the first kiss you both partook in, not everyone he's kissed had such a long-lasting impact on him, that's if he ever kissed anyone at all (that wasn't you.)

it wasn't all that special he said, but everything you've ever wanted in a wedding was there. he remembered what flowers you'd always pluck from the grounds you traveled on. or the colors that always had your eyebrow twitching just hearing the first letter of the pigment's name.

the venue wasn't necessarily small either, borrowing whatever he could in his homeland to make it perfect, even going as far as to asking others for help on what to embellish the locale in.

for as long as you've known him- kinich wasn't much of a romantic. letting you take the lead instead, switching up occasionally by spooning you alternatively. but you remembered he'd always laid his head atop your chest, from the nightmares of his own past, and regrets; he found peace in listening to your heartbeat, and feeling your torso heave slowly.

he wanted to make you feel special today & tonight. so he wants to do it right at least. he tried to fluster you in a way that you'd be surprised, aware he wasn't very amorous.

or at least that's what was in his point of view because you had a whole other plan ready for him. but you didn't know about the surprises he'd throw either.

the whole theme of the wedding was based on his tribe, encased with traces of your own home/favorite colors.

but something that you'd see as a surprise this afternoon was kinich's suit. it wasn't the usual black suit and tie. no- he wore.. your initial around his neck, and his tie was the color of your eyes.

you felt your eyes water a little, walking down the aisle, your arm entangled with the guardian who's been with you since day one. (or whoever you'd like!)

after the classic bouquet toss, and squealings later. you told your newly-wed husband your bridesmaids had a surprise for him. he didn't think much of it; meeting them before, they seemed nice enough. (one of them is mualani btw :3)

mualani who stands beside kinich briefly for the picture, she hands him a polaroid photo from the photographer's kamera. "what is-" he gets cut off, his face turning to playfully sour until it slowly changes to his usual stoic behavior (he doesn't know his face is turning redder by the second)

"you.. hmm." he awkwardly nodded after another picture was taken of his reaction, cheeks aflame; the picture was still so clear in his mind. now it couldn't get out!

the mental image of your body in frilly lace/in nothing but a blanket over you, a simple layer of clothing that stopped him from seeing your bare body- fuck he could feel himself get hard already.

and the more time that passed, progressing with each photo being taken, the worse his boner got. shit he can't believe you're his. and he's damn well lucky to have you.

even as he stood idly, talking to some of the guests, some more of the bridesmaids came up to him, handing him more scenes for him to visualize in his head.

"ahh.. may i excuse myself from this conversation?" he politely bows and walks away to where you were. the eventide's stellar in the sky definitely wasn't shining each time he saw you. oh there it is- that laugh he always loved and fell in love with again each time he heard it.

"pretty.. ahh.. there's something i.. need help with."

kinich who's already in your newly bought home, hurriedly stripping you of your clothes, ready to devour you and eat your cunt out to his content.

kinich who could only palm his erection, as his mouth latched onto your wetness was already waiting for him. your taste, how it smelled, how your slit was already so wet for him- you knew what you were doing. and it worked really damn well.

neuvillette who was already nervous, throughout the proposal, even you relationship before being fiancees, I mean, it was you, why wouldn't he be worried? he was ready to jump off a cliff if anything went wrong if he'd tell the truth, but he'd never say that.

neuvillette who sighed with relief, the days of worrying that something bad might happen to you on your special day with him. taking pictures with the bridesmaids for the wedding's little picture book for you to look back on soon, and maybe even for your kids to look at and call you both corny for.

neuvillette who suddenly received 3 photo frames from 3 of your bridesmaids, confused as he took a look at it, he could only feel the rush of warmth crawling up from his neck to his ears. his horns grew the more he looked into the photos.

"w- where did you get this?" he observed the room shyly, looking for any signs of you, why? to help him out with 'something' of course. no one could take care of it better than you did.

they simply shrugged and walked away, whispering and chuckling to each other. awkwardly walking to find you, pulling you to the side, inside one of the venue's main buildings, bringing you into one of the bedrooms.

"you didn't need to tease me like this." you were pinned to the bed once the wedding ended. the painful boner you had caused hadn't gone away, even now, throbbing, missing where it's supposed to be (inside you)

ripping your wedding dress off your body (not really, just making sure you get out of it without ruining it), he couldn't wait to fill you with his seed. he wanted to see personally if you could take all of him in. he could only caress the very rim of your hole, teasing you with his fingers before he would finally split you apart with his cock.

from the amount of time, he's been alive, his stamina would be unmatched, so it'd be entirely up to you for how long you wanna do this :)

it felt as if he was such a meanie, but his words were different- praising you, and gently holding your wrists in place. it didn't quite match the pace of his cock drilling itself inside you though, it felt deep, and it looked as if the night has barely even started. oh well.

zhongli had never thought of the idea of marriage until he overheard you speaking about it with a few of your friends. it wasn't you necessarily hoping he'd propose, but you were the only one within the group of four to have not been married yet!

he knows you'd never leave him for another, but adding a ring to your pretty little hand definitely would tell all the other men and women alike who try to hit on you to say everything for him.

the wedding was more than just a delight, it was planned to the very smallest of details. it was beautiful, even on a budget of somewhat a lot but not too much; it made sure to shine brighter than most of the stars that night.

before he could sweep you into his arms, and take you upstairs into the home you both chose out before the wedding; some of your bridesmaids, along with your maid of honor had handed him a book.

they said nothing but laughed and walked away to the food section, looking through the book and oh wow.

he hadn't learned what a boudoir was but he definitely enjoyed what he was seeing now. flipping through the pages, staying to the side so no one else could see what was happening. he'll have to ask you about that lingerie set later, white definitely complimented you..

"s'dirty.. you tease me like this, even on our special day? mmmf.." you sat down on his cock, as he showed you off in the mirror. the same lingerie set you wore in the photo book was already ripped off your body, and on the floor. geo marks that scattered, covering most of his arms caressed your thighs that trembled.

his strong arm ran over your body, carefully exploring every inch of you that he could. the thought of being legally, and weddedingly(?) yours. you have his last name now.

he could only imagine how much more pleasure he'd want to give you throughout tonight. he could only praise you for taking him so well, watching you try and use his cock for your own, but he's too big :(.

tartaglia who introduced you with pride to his family after proposing. but watching you treat his little sister and brother so well.. oh he had to get you pregnant.

but for now, he'd put those thoughts to the side, and enjoy his and your special day, no lust, just love.

you had other plans though. and he wasn't gonna complain.

a couple of your bridesmaids took pictures with him for the futurity of the book of photos for his siblings to look through as well. but after each photo, they all handed him Polaroids.

"what's this?" he looked at them confusedly, but all they did was "just look at it!" "you won't regret it!" and boy he sure did not!!! ssshit just covered in a blanket, no nothing underneath? you wanna get fucked tonight?

he pushed you against the wall of the master bedroom. "mmm.. w'na try to get me hard like that again in public, and I'm gonna do a looott worse than tonight, baby."

the ring on your finger he saw as your hand held onto the wall while he stripped you- he couldn't help but let out a loud as hellll groan. even when he held you down to the bed, he made sure to kiss the jewelry on your finger that meant you're his for life.

while you ride him, his eyes are always on the necklace that has his initials on it, watching it bounce up and down on your chest. for the longest time; he was foreign to the idea of even a relationship, let alone getting to marry someone. but he was gonna make sure you'll feel what he couldn't express throughout time.

when he's soo obsessed with nutting inside you, he holds your hips down onto his, making sure not a drop will be wasted. he could already imagine what your kids with him would look like.

capitano who preferred a more quiet wedding. one between simple friends, and I guess co-workers (he was against it but you invited them anyway.)

so in this sense, columbina, arlecchino, and signora had agreed to accompany you as your bridesmaids. tsaritsa also agreed to bless your wedding (because she agrees that you are strong, mentally, and physically, and give capitano something to look forward to, unlike before.)

i guess the others attended (most attended just to say congrats and leave, pierro was best man)

accompanying you down to a glass garden house nearby the venue you chose out, but before he could proceed, your three bridesmaids stopped him. cheeky smiles on signora, and columbina's lips- arlecchino handed him a book.

"they want you to have this." the fourth harbinger states, leaving with the two ladies simply giggling and walking off, opposite sides of arlecchino.

he questioningly opened the book while about to walk back to you but oh. wow.

as he catches up to you, he's still a bit flustered, but quickly composed himself once more. "are.. you trying to tease me, kitten?"

and as much as he hasn't had any experience in a long while, oh boy is he ready to find out if he still got it or not

but capitano never knew he'd be so turned on to think about what real married life had to offer.. like kids. he knew he couldn't necessarily have them since he's a harbinger, but a man can dream, right?

anyways he's already pulling your hair from behind, while he has you doggy style on the mattress. I don't know cause I get the feeling he would.

a tight hold onto the strands of your hair. "fffuck.. this is what you get for looking so fuckin' hot.." he groans.

even so when he isn't fucking your pussy with sloppy thrusts from behind- he's fingering you with his long fingers that make you go wild.

he does take note that his fingers are pretty long, so he's pretty careful when it comes down to that.

you sitting on his lap while he admires you in the mirror, watching how you reacted to simply him adding another digit inside your hole, as another hand held onto your left hand, caressing the ring that binded you to him. he couldn't be happier!

[samodivaa]

permeated by jealously

Paring: Bucky x Reader

Summary: In your tight-fitting red dress, you look ravishing for the date with a Russian guy—but the moment you retort to Bucky in Russian, it begs to be ripped from your body.

Warnings: smut, angst, kitchen sex, rough/possessive, unprotected p in v, miscommunication Words: 4k

Bucky's veins are full of the serum, but at this moment, they are full with belladonna tincture, the substance of jealousy. Seeing you with another man, he speaks of Love in the past tense. The scene that plays in front of him—that guy coming to pick you up from the compound, is perfectly adapted to a temporal phenomenon: distinct, abrupt, framed, already a memory. For a split second you stare at each other, you smile at him ruefully. A fleeting, lasting moment for Bucky. Why do you even notice him? Seeing you happy, gives mixed colors to the air of the moment—he is lost in time, sleeping being his only lover.

Bucky wants to kiss you. Instead he puts his lips on the tumbler glass, pretending that it is you. His t-shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and he runs a hand through his hair before he puts the glass down on the kitchen counter—flashes of you in that dress that you wear for your date and the way it lifts your body up from a single look races through his head.

His cock jerks and he shakes his head, grinning as he stares down the bottle of vodka next to his cup.

And, for the first time in his innocent and confined life, he senses in himself a potential for a different corruption that takes his breath away. He doesn’t blame himself. He is a curious, wanting thing—finally, enlightened and free, but also lustful and carnal. But It stabs at him, almost like a physical pain, and he feels both deprived and angry, deprived because Bucky wishes to be with you and angry, because his own choices causes him misery. ----- “It is almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare, you're so relieved. I just wake up into another nightmare."

"And what is that nightmare, Bucky?" He keeps his blue, lusterless eyes fixed on Natasha with a calm but warm and kindly expression in them as he thinks how to say it  "My love life” “Maybe you need to ask her on a date, that’s what Vladimir does”

“Vladimir? Oh , so it is not just 'that one guy' anymore?”  he says in a quiet voice, without a trace of irritation, with a note of the simplest curiosity, his lips quivering as a forced smile comes on to his face. Nat momentarily startles. Then she starts to laugh. “You’re jealous of him?”

He clenches his jaw. “I’m not jealous,” a note of personal affront creeps into his voice “I don’t like his name”  ----- You are on a date, having fun—but anxiety grabs his mind, it is self-perpetuating. Worrisome thoughts reproduce faster than rabbits, he is trying not to lose his balance. Not yet. Especially when the jealousy sets in. 

Bucky is conscious every moment in himself of many, many elements positively swarming in him, ah these, opposite elements. He knows that they have been swarming in him since you started going out with Vladimir and they are craving some outlet from him, but he doesn't let them, would not let them, purposely would not let them come out, because he believes there is nothing so self-destroying, and so despicable, as his jealousy. He tries to appear as a hard shell on the outside when you finally enter the kitchen at 1 am—while there is a runny mess on the inside as he tenses, waiting for you to say something, anything. When you near the sink, your fingers find the curve of the faucet, the metal cool beneath the touch. He turns around to lean against the counter as you pour a cup of cold water. Bucky stares hard at you, watching you take a long drink then he follows the flick of your tongue over your bottom lip. His heart stumbles a beat. He is in such an irritated frame of mind, because of your quietness that in rude and abrupt fashion he blurts out the words:    “You must love that dress”

He takes time persing down the length of your body as you take a step back, watching you press against the counter and then back up before locking on your eyes again. You are not wearing a bra and your nipples harden from having his eyes on you. Red, the front needlessly too scandalous—at least for Bucky. The dipping v lets him see the swelled sides of your breasts pushed up and together. Just to be sure, though, a golden necklace with a teardrop pearl at the end, letting it trail just over your cleavage.

  “I didn’t know that you notice what I am wearing when I go out”

You answer, trying to look as innocent as possible. The vindictive smile that stretches on your ruined lipstick sends shivers down Bucky’s spine—did you make out with the guy, maybe more than that? You look beautiful sitting there looking at him like a she-cat. All he has to do is look at you, and he lusts. He wants to take off that delectable dress and make love to you until you don't have the energy to go out with anyone else ever again.

  “You’ve worn it for the second time. For your date.”

His gaze drops from your eyes, to the swell of your chest. Your chest tightens and you bite your lip to hide the grin wanting to escape. You notice the disgust written on his face and you laugh coldly, gaze never leaving his buff frame. With the certainty that you have well and truly punished him for not asking you on a single date. The angry, feral part of you feels so close to the surface that you can almost scent its blood-clotted fur. You want to lick the scratches you’ve made on him. You want to scratch him until he breaks apart. You gulp down the rest of your water to ease the heat flaming across your skin. Then you lick your lips. His gaze tracks the movement. You think you stopped breathing.

  “His name is Vlad” 

An audacious expression plasters on his face as you sigh in irritation at Bucky, rolling your eyes. Bucky is still leaning against the counter and rests his metal hand on the countertop while sipping vodka from the mug in his other hand. A beautiful yet deadly ornament—vibranium has no business being as hot as it is on him.

A note of personal affront creeps into his voice “Vladimir, mhm”

  “What else have you noticed about me?” your grin becomes a touch leery, innocently cocking your head to the side.

  “Try me” he says softly.

  “Favorite color?” you ask, interrogatively.

  He chuckles “Red”

  “Favorite quote?”

Your brows lift, anticipation making your nerves sing. You are not sure what he is about to say, but you have the feeling that it will be the right one, your heart leaps at the thought.

  “Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid”  he answers, this time winking at you  “I know everything about you, sweetheart”   he adds and you feel like smacking that stupid grin off his face.

His mind works well when it comes to his work as an avenger, hovering on hummingbird wings, but when it comes to you, especially when you purposely play with his jealousy, It finds a way to push through any seal of his mind, his expressions are always an array of masks he uses to cover it up his emotions—but now, it is all over his face, pure surrender, because he is affected and you can tell, he is staring impudently at you, awning for your response.

  “I prefer kotyonok. Vlad says that cognac and wine is all for the heart and that vodka is for the soul. If it's hurting real bad and you’ve never had vodka before”

His brows lift, because this does surprise him and his stomach tightens at that particular Russian word. His mouth curls into a small snarl at the thought of that stupid man calling you that. A pang of jealousy surges through him. The bad kind. The kind of longing that makes him wonder that there must be a natural comorbidity between sexual appetite and sexual jealousy, between the desire to fuck and the desire to kill. He clears his throat, his face souring before his mocking tone grates:

  “Looks like you know a thing or two about me, too”   

He is trying to not be overcome by emotion. Emotion is the art of breaking hearts, minds, and tongues―but jealousy is too much, even for Bucky. He settles back into himself, shaking whatever momentary emotion flitted over his face and replacing it with a confident aura that screams laid back and in control as he cages you to the counter, his flesh hand still holding his half full cup. Your throat gurgles slightly, looking at the bigger frame towering you through your lashes like the starved woman you are. You are overwhelmed by his bold move, leaving you both speechless and breathless, but even then it is important to identify the correct emotion here—lust, a longing that goes on a loop. You try to ignore his hard cock pressing against your thigh, your attention remains on his face. You feel drunk without a drink, your nerves tighten, making your muscles clench―this is going exactly how you want. You want him to kiss you. But you make sure to keep your facial features mundane and level.   “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you have a crush on me, Bucky” You also ignore the annoying, visible blush on your cheeks, he must have noticed it because his expression goes grim for a second before a surprised laugh almost breaks free from his lips, responding only by a clink of his tumbler against yours. Judging by the rumble that vibrates in his chest, he likes your reaction, though the noise ends on a cynical note. His blue eyes drop to your mouth, warmth pours through your body and you moisturize your lips as he presses his knee between your legs. Right against your clit—you breathe out, a wave of pleasure sliding down your spine while Bucky just tips his glass back the last of vodka, allowing the burn to sear his throat and warm his stomach—while casually grinding his leg slowly against you, creating a sensation that has heat winding through your core and shooting down your legs.   “Na zdorovie” (cheers) You smile venomously with a kind of joyous sigh, your arrogance in this moment makes you feel very confident. Up to this moment possessiveness has not been that much of a torment, now it suddenly gnaws at his heart. As in slow motion, he pulls back to put both glasses on the counter. He realizes that you do something to him. Every time. It’s your only detriment this past month. To step on his heart—to test his feelings for you, and his jealousy already has made him erupt like a volcano. He has never been jealous before he met you. It burns. Some nights, watching you go with other men on missions, even that drives him mad. 

   “You and that fucking mouth, kotyonok” His voice sounds ill-natured, bitter, politeness that would only be laughed at, restraining an unruly nature, wary of the ways that you are trying to provoke him, but his tone shifts at the last word. Voice warm and low. Intimate. You like it this way. You like the way it sounds and it makes you gasp.   “You like this, don’t you, pretty girl?” Your character has absolutely changed. It is an entirely new and hitherto unknown being who now stands and stares at him somewhat lovingly. There is evidently, he concludes, something at work here, some storm of the mind, some paroxysm of emotion which he won’t question. When you say nothing, his hands move to your waist, his vision already blurring. His bones fill up with foam, a languid fear, and a terrible desire. You let out a deep breath and can’t deny the strange elation you feel when you feel his hands, needing more of it, of his touch. Your pussy contracts as his hands reach around, gripping a handful of your ass, forcing you harder against his both body and leg. The grip is both bruising and possessive, controlling every movement.     “Oh, god-” You open your mouth, and Bucky dips down, catching the moan with his tongue. Satisfaction sparks in his irises and he tilts his head and keeps watching you with those fucking lethal eyes of his. Bucky gives a small grin, a fake one. The type that shows no teeth and barely lifts at the corners. You feel a very small spark to your ego, knowing you are getting a rise out of him. But all of the playfulness in the air drowns beneath the intensity of his thousand shades of blue dancing in his eyes as if he is peeling back your mental layers, his eyes looking down watching the bare length of thigh that shows through the slit in your dress. 

   “You and these dresses” he groans. Whether you want to admit it or not, physically, this man affects you more than anyone else ever has, and that causes panic to percolate through every nerve, you feel like you are losing control, but you don’t mind it. You feel vulnerable, exposed, almost at his mercy at this point. Jealousy isn't a pleasant quality, but his jealousy is combined with modesty and there's even something touching about the filthy words coming out of his mouth. He wants you—and finally, he is not afraid to both tell and show it.

   “Ya ne mogu vyrazit', kak sil'no ty menya zavodish'” (I can’t explain to you how much you turn me on) Your lips part and you swallow audibly while he has the most delicious visual of his dick slipping between them, your eyes staring up at him in surprise and that sweet tongue running along the shaft. He surges forward, your face is an inch from his when you breathe out, he breaths in before crossing the final, tiny gap and pressing his lips to yours. It is not a sweet kiss. It is hard, demanding, and possessive, borne out of weeks of pent-up frustration and tension. His mouth is hungry and insistent, his tongue probing your lips, asking for greater intimacy. You grant it, tongues swirling together, yours follow his when it retreats and tasting his in return. When he finally pulls back, he rests his hands on your hips, and stares into your eyes for a minute.

  “Tvoy zapakh s uma menya svodit” (your scent drives me crazy) 

He speaks without haste, controlling himself so well, yet there is something in his voice, determined and euphoric, resentful and insolently defiant. Passion smolders in his eyes as he traces the line of your clavicle with his index flesh finger, pausing for only a fraction of a second. And then you become aware of all the magnificent silk wrapping around your body, you have the feeling that you might drown in his eyes, his two drops of winter rain.   “I would love to make love to you, but not tonight”  He studies your face, pleading silently for your approval, searching for the smallest sign, the slightest movement of your brow, the vaguest reddening of your cheeks, the surprise of your eyes. At that moment, your soul clenches as well as your pussy. The hard dick still pressing into you distracts you from replying. You can feel your panties dampening. And your nipples are suddenly incredibly sensitive, aching as they pucker against the material of your dress. Your chest warms, desire winding like a rope around your core. You think you like Bucky this way. A smile shows on your face. This would be invisible to any, but the closest scrutiny—Bucky has noticed it and taken it for his sign. Then he leans forward and presses his lips once more, his sugar roughness, his possessiveness is what you need to finally feel.   “What did you do when you went out?”   “We had a few drinks. We danced.” you reply, thinking it best to speak the truth at once. His lip quivers slightly, forcing himself to seem calm, but Bucky’s eyes are sparkling irefully, there is no doubt in his expression the full success of your endeavors to make him even more detested.   “You danced with him?” he asks, with sudden vivacity.   “Well, he is my date” You murmur, trying to smooth away all disquietude on the subject, you sense a physical weakness by the violent, unequal throbbing of your own heart, which beats visibly and audibly under the excess of agitation—but before you can even manage to open your mouth again, his metal fingers grab the front of your gown and pull it until it tears, no matter how beautiful, it was meant for another man—perfect breast on display just for him, his cock pulses at the sight. His touch tickles you on his way up to your boobs, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his palms. “Tony’s rules include no sex in the common areas” “Fuck the rules” he grits out, more animal than you have ever heard from a human. And then he gives you a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet—with the filthy touch of his hands, that unexpected warmth rushes through you. His thumbs run over the hardened peaks, making you moan and his dick is so stiff that he is worried that he might come.   “Ty moya” he says coolly. (you are mine)

   He leans in, his voice a rumble in your ear.   “Moy kotyonok” (my kitten)

Bucky moves, gripping the meat of your thighs before he spins you harshly around and bends you over the counter. Your walls are squelching around nothing as you feel him pull back, murmuring something in Russian, it is sinful—and pleasurable, drawing a muffled whimper from your mouth as you hear him tear apart your panties. You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you hear his belt clattering noisily as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons of his jeans open, followed by the low purr of his zipper coming undone, he drifts his hands down his sides and hooks both thumbs into his jeans, sliding them and the boxers down his legs before pressing his body against yours until every inch of him melds into you one more. Bucky’s metal hand grips your chin and forces your head back while the other closes around your throat as his cock presses against you—chills slide up your spine, arousal sending a shot of adrenaline through your center as you feel pre-cum on your naval. Fuck, he is huge. There is a certain satisfaction in manhandling you into this position, the flesh arm tightens around your nape, holding you close to him. 

   "How about we make a deal? You wear dresses for me and I take you out on dates?” He rambles against your ear, tongue slipping out to taste you, just a little bit. His cock nudges around your ass cheeks, to your sleek mound until he gasps as he guides his sticky cockhead with his metal hand, gliding through your delicate folds and returning his cold grasp around your chin. He doesn’t say anything as he slips inside you with ease, your wetness sucking him in, making it easy for him to thrust into you until he buries himself to the hilt.     “Fuck, you feel good”

Bucky moans quietly as his eyes close, focusing on feeling your cunt wrapping around his dick for the first time. His lips stay silent, but he chatters with his fingertips, with the way his hands hold, the way he fucks you. You want to see his face, but you can only imagine how perfect he looks.

His expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure—breathless, possessed, lost in the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight. Your pussy cradles around his dick as he pounds into you from behind. It is an igniting feeling to have so much control over your body. It is sick and twisted, he has long learned to run from what he feels and wants, that's why he has nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control. And he needs to take control over something for once in his life. You. He has lost control over everything, even the places in his head. When your moans become too loud, his hand closes around your neck, slowly cutting into your skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. His growls erupt from his chest, the primal noise flooding your senses, making your insides clench around his length.

   “Come for me, drench my dick”

He whispers, fucking his cock against your cervix. He nibbles at your earlobe, loving the sharp intake of your breath as you struggle to breathe. Jealousy…teeth dragging against your skin, living marks. The primal lust, the sheer need to claim you, quickly finding ways to express his sacred hunger to you in animal passion. He snarls out gluttonous groans against your skin as you clench and seize, pounding you harder as your body contracts. Pleasure breaks out like a wildfire, reaching around your temples, shooting up and down your spine as his thrusts never falter, his mouth hangs open with bliss, his cock plunging into you with skin-slapping speed and he finally reaches his orgasm, cock spurting a thick dollop of cum with each throb.

Lust is the best of all the deadly sins, you realize as he pulls out and helps you go back on your shaky feet. It all happened too fast. You only wanted a kiss. You push his chest like you want him off of you, but your fingers have Bucky’s shirt clutched in them and he knows you are full of shit. You want him. 

   “I wish I could say I felt guilty for what I did. I don't.” The timbre of his voice goes into that low register that makes your insides curl in on themselves. You want that tongue to swipe your sex like licking the frosting off a cupcake. It is the sexual chemistry you want more of. It is electric. But guilt sets in. You are feeling torn between your commitment to building a relationship with Vlad while engaging with Bucky, in a way it feels like cheating. A part of you is hoping someone from the team would wake up and catch you, so you wouldn't have to live with this lie. But no one wakes up and in the silence that follows, you understand the nature of your new curse: you are going to get away with it. Your silence hurts him, his mouth tightens. But there are some wounds that he can heal only by deepening them and making them worse. And yet, sometimes facts are no more than pitiful consequences, Bucky knows how the public will perceive you if you are dating the former Winter Soldier. Seeing you standing there unresponsive makes him realize that silence has a sound—he knows that you regret sleeping with him. You are the people's favorite Avenger, the one everyone look up to with admiration and reverence—he is sure that you are thinking about it, but he understands. The blue moons in his eyes are glimmering with an emotion you can’t put his finger on—and he should be sad, but instead, he feels nothing. He feels a lot of nothing these days. He is empty, as if whatever makes him feel and hurt and laugh and love has been surgically removed, leaving him hollowed out like a shell. This is for your happy ever after, Vlad might be a stupid Russian, but he is at the very core of his existence—a real human. He turns around and paces the room, as if he can leave his regret, you, behind. But it cracks you as you see him walk away, leaving you naked like an ugly shadow made by himself. You have mistaken his lust for love. Regret. It turns into anger, into hatred. And where there is anger there is always pain underneath. You eventually come to understand that in harboring the anger, the bitterness and resentment towards Bucky who has hurt you, you are giving the reins of control over to him—maybe It’s time to finally say “yes” to being Vlad’s girlfriend.

[forzalando]

take my hand

another 3k celebration blurb! this time, best friends to lovers with lando for my dear friend lee @scuderiahoney 💛 i hope you all love this one, it's an apology for unrequited love!lando lol no heartbreak this time, folks!!! i'm being nice!!!! set at the 2024 spanish gp but definitely some inaccuracies with the post race timeline and also please pretend max fewtrell was there pairing: lando norris x fem best friend!reader word count: 3.2k (this was supposed to be a blurb wtf is wrong with me) summary: it can be so easy to fall in love with your best friend, and it can also be incredibly hard to imagine a world where they love you back. in this world, you're one of the lucky ones. tw: short but steamy makeout scene, mild cursing

Loving Lando Norris was so astonishingly easy. It came as naturally as breathing for you and has for over half of your life.

You met so many years ago but it still feels like yesterday that he reached out to you and said, “take my hand”, pulling you gently off the ground while the other children laughed at your clumsiness. He told you that they laughed at him too – he was short, shorter than you even at that age, and he struggled to read and write. You vowed that day to always pick each other up when you fell or faltered, always stand by each other’s side even when everyone else was laughing, and although it was a promise made between two children, neither of you had ever broken it.

Smiling at the memory, you were off in your own little world – thinking about the days when he would pick you “flowers” at recess (you didn’t have the heart to tell him they were weeds) and you would always share half of your cookie at lunch.

A voice pulled you from your trance, making you jump slightly at the sudden interruption.

“What are you thinking about? Or should I say who are you thinking about with that dopey smile on your face?”

You turned to face Max Fewtrell, a staple in both yours and Lando’s lives for just as long as you’d known each other.

“I was just thinking about where we’ll go for a celebratory dinner after the race. I’ve been craving gourmet pasta and a fruity cocktail.”

“Right, and my name is Willy Wonka. You don’t have to tell me the truth, it’s fine! Just thought I’d let you know he’s looking for you, he wants you in the garage for the race.”

Your heart swelled – even though Lando asked you to be there for every race you could attend, it never failed to make you giddy. You nodded your head at Max, he smirked back at you, and you walked as quickly as possible to the McLaren garage without calling attention to yourself.

As soon as you stepped into the garage, you ran straight into Oscar and the force almost knocked you to the floor.

“Oh thank god you’re here,” he groaned. “Lando’s insufferable, asking where you are every five minutes.”

“Where is he? In his driver’s room?”

“Yeah, that’s where I last saw him headed,” Oscar yelled over his shoulder, walking towards his car. “Go work your magic on him!”

You rolled your eyes as you walked the familiar route to Lando’s driver’s room, your heart rate picking up a bit the closer you got to it. As soon as you were in front of the door, you knocked once and paused, then twice in quick succession, and once more after another brief pause – the secret knock you’d been using for years to let each other know you were there.

The door swung open almost immediately after your last knock and a frantic Lando yanked you inside. He flopped down on the couch behind him and covered his face with his hands – even though you couldn’t see his face, you knew he had a frown and furrowed brow.

“Thank god you’re here now, I’ve been going insane. I need you to tell me that I’m going to win this race – now that I’ve won once, it’s fucking brutal being so close yet so far. Canada was a nightmare and today I’m starting on pole. They’ll eat me alive if I don’t convert it into a win and I don’t know if I can handle that.”

You sat next to him and gently peeled his hands from his face, glassy green eyes, flushed cheeks, and, just as you predicted, a frown and furrowed brow.

“I can’t tell you that you’re going to win, Lando,” you started to say until he interrupted you with a groan, pushing your hands away.

“Hey,” you whispered. “I can’t tell you that you’re going to win, but what I can tell you is that no matter what, I’m proud of you. Max is proud of you. Your family is proud of you. Your fans are proud of you. So many people love you and see what you’re capable of – winning a race, not winning a race, it doesn’t define you. You’re the hardest worker I know, you’re kind, you are the most wonderful friend. I’ll celebrate you even if you come plum last pushing a burning, front wing-less car across the line and so will everyone else who knows and loves you.”

By the time you’d finished rambling, Lando’s shoulders had visibly relaxed and he was smiling. Not the goofy smile with his teeth on full display but a smile was a smile, you would take what you could get.

“Thank you for always being there for me. I can’t promise I won’t be pissed if I lose today but at least I feel better now, thanks to you.”

You punched his arm lightly, jokingly, and rolled your eyes. “We made a promise, didn’t we? I’ll always be there for you, always there to pick you up, even if your inability to see how wonderful you are makes me want to scream.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m perfect, you love me, I’m the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you, your days are miserable without me, tell me something I don’t know,” he jested, nudging your shoulder before standing and holding out his hand to help you up.

“In your dreams, Norris,” you scoffed. “Make sure that big head of yours still fits in your helmet before you get in the car.”

He laughed loudly as he led you out of his driver’s room, finally smiling the goofy smile you loved so dearly. The moment was short-lived – someone from his team called his name and he hugged you briefly before jogging towards them, yelling over his shoulder that he wanted you waiting for him in Parc Ferme after the race.

You shouted your agreement, hoping and praying he hadn’t noticed the rapid beating of your heart or how warm your cheeks were when he pulled you into that brief embrace. Although he had said it all to rile you up, you truly did think the world of him. He was the greatest thing that had ever happened to you. In your eyes, he was as perfect as a person could be, and oh, did you love him. You loved him far more than a friend should and it was getting increasingly more difficult to keep that to yourself.

As Lando pulled his car in front of the P2 sign, you felt the familiar burning of guilt running through your veins.

Maybe you should have told him he would win. Insisted on it, actually. You should have been adamant that he would rise to the occasion and to the top step of the podium once again.

He wouldn’t want to see you, you were quite sure of that, and despite your promise to be waiting for him with his team, you tried to sneak away unnoticed. You’d slowly made it far back enough to be swallowed by the sea of people until an arm blocked you from getting any further.

You looked up to see Lando’s race engineer with a disapproving look on his face and instantly felt like your father had just caught you trying to sneak out after curfew.

“He wants you here and he’s going to need you here,” Will shouted over the noise of the crowd.

“I think I’m the last person he wants to see right now, I wouldn’t promise him that he would win. I basically jinxed his whole race trying to keep him from being so hard on himself. What if he thinks I don’t believe in him?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” Will snorted. “Now please get back up there quickly so you’re the first person he sees when he gets out of that car.”

With the help of Will, you were pushed gently back to the front just in time to see Lando haul himself out of his McLaren. His body language was obvious – disappointment, sorrow, embarrassment, and your heart ached as you listened to the roaring cheers from the Red Bull team as Max launched himself into their arms.

You knew Lando would be running every possible scenario through his mind – what if he had gotten a better start, what if he’d managed tires just a bit better, what if George hadn’t been able to sail through at the start and he hadn’t had to back off of fighting Max. All of those thoughts a natural, valid response, but if he voiced any of them out loud he’d get torn to pieces by both journalists and fans of other drivers.

When he peeled his balaclava from his face your stomach twisted and you silently begged him to look your way – for him to find a face in the crowd that was so unwaveringly proud of him through everything, but he kept his eyes trained anywhere but you or his team.

Finally, you saw his eyes flicker to you, and he walked briskly toward where you and the few members of his team were waiting. Wordlessly, he pulled you into his arms and exhaled so deeply it felt as if he’d been holding his breath since the end of the race.

“You drove beautifully,” you whispered, combing your fingers through the sweat-dampened curls on his head. “I love you, you know that, right?”

Lando’s arms immediately loosened around you and his head was turned away from you, he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, look you in the eye.

“We’ll talk later, I have to go do my interview,” he mumbled. “Wait for me in my driver’s room, okay?”

You nodded your head even though he was already walking away from you, shoulders slumped and jaw clenched. Honestly, you weren’t sure what hurt worse – the fact that you could physically see his disappointment or that he didn’t say he loved you back.

It felt like hours before you heard an all too familiar knock on the door to Lando’s room – the door gently swinging open to reveal the tired face and frame of your best friend. He must have showered in Oscar’s room before coming to find you – the smell of champagne nowhere to be found yet his curls stuck slightly to his forehead. The sight was endearing, and it took everything in you to not pull him into you and bury yourself against his chest.

“You didn’t have to knock, it’s your room,” you spoke softly, adjusting your position on the couch.

“Force of habit, I guess.” The corner of his lip turned up when he answered you – a good sign, a sign that maybe he wasn’t angry with you at all about your earlier conversation.

Although it was Lando who asked to talk, you couldn’t help yourself from blurting out an apology as soon as he took a seat next to you.

“I’m so sorry about earlier,” you pleaded. “I should’ve said something different, I should’ve just said what you wanted me to say. I meant all of it, every word, but you asked me to reassure you in a specific way and I didn’t.”

Lando blinked a few times as he stared at you, his mouth falling open in shock? Amusement? You couldn’t tell, but at least he didn’t appear to be mad.

“Do you think I’m angry with you?”

“Well, yes,” you mumbled. “I probably jinxed your race.”

“Jinxed it? If anything, you’re the reason I finished second. I kept thinking about what you told me instead of focusing on how I screwed up – it kept my head in the race.”

“But, but,” you stammered, “you didn’t say you loved me back. In Parc Ferme, when you were hugging me. You always say it back, I thought you were furious with me.”

“Would I have walked over only to hug you if I was furious with you?”

You felt a little embarrassed at your panic – “I suppose not, you probably would’ve stayed as far away from me as possible.”

“Exactly, you silly muppet,” he teased, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “I didn’t say it back because I realized that it means something different for both of us and I, believe it or not, got scared.”

Your eyes widened and you felt like you were going to be sick. He knew. You shouldn’t have been surprised, everyone had figured it out – his pit crew, Will, Zak, Oscar, Oscar’s girlfriend the literal first time you met her, all of your friends and family, even drivers on different teams had made comments to you in passing over the years.

“Lando, I,” you tried to get ahead of it, ahead of the rejection and the awkwardness, but he cut you off with a raised hand and a pleading look.

“Please, just let me get this out or I never will,” he begged. “I think I’ve always known, or at least everyone around me has just always told me that it’s painfully obvious, but I didn’t fully realize it until earlier today. You care about me so much, more than anyone, and I’m almost positive I could be the lousiest driver, lawyer, engineer, teacher, architect, whatever, and you’d still always be proud of me. You’d be there for me regardless with a giant smile on your face, an “I love you”, and a hug that would heal any self-doubt or negative thoughts. You mean everything to me and I don’t know what I would do without you but – ”

You waited with bated breath, your leg bouncing uncontrollably and heart hammering in your chest. Waiting for the “but I don’t feel the same”, “but I see you as a friend”, for the inevitable heartbreak.

“But I can’t keep my feelings a secret anymore, even if it might ruin everything, but I have to believe it won’t because we can get through anything together. I love you, Y/N, more than anyone in this world, more than a friend, more than I ever thought it would be possible to love someone. I’m saying it back now, hoping that you feel the same because it’ll be incredibly awkward if you don’t, but that’s what I had to tell you first. I love you. I think I always have.”

It felt like the earth had stopped moving, time frozen and only you and Lando existed in this moment, only you existed in the entire universe. Your thoughts raced with what to say back – something romantic? Should you just jump into his arms and kiss him senseless like you’d dreamed about for years? Unfortunately, you landed on something far less eloquent.

“You what?” Your shout echoed in his driver’s room, if anyone was within a ten-foot radius they surely would have heard you.

“Well, I guess that’s not the worst reaction,” Lando pondered, looking away from you bashfully. “Nora Powell stomped on my foot when I told her I liked her. Do you remember that? I think it was Year 10?”

You did remember – it was quite a horrendous memory for you, actually, as that’s the year you realized you had a crush on your best friend.

“Oh, I was so jealous of her,” you blurted. “I cornered her at lunch the next day and told her she was the luckiest girl in the world and a certified idiot for turning you down.”

His head snapped back to look at you, a hopeful glint in his eye.

You smiled at Lando, tentatively cupping his cheek. “I suppose I’m the luckiest girl in the world now, to love and be loved by the most incredible man I’ve ever known.”

“Oh no,” he insisted, “I promise you, I’m the lucky one.”

He kissed you once gently, tentatively, his lips barely brushing yours before he pulled you into his lap and slid his hands to rest on your neck, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. In an instant, he was kissing you breathless, licking into your mouth as you whined and pressed yourself against him.

One roll of your hips had him panting, a hand leaving your face to slide under your shirt, leaving a trail of fire until he stopped and squeezed just under your breast. You were dizzy with desire and full of so much love for the man underneath you – he was intoxicating, you never wanted to stop kissing him, you never wanted to know the feeling of his hands not wandering your body.

You tugged his hair lightly, just enough to disconnect his lips from yours even though it pained you to do so.

“I love you so much,” you muttered, a tear escaping from your eye. “I never thought – ”, you couldn’t even get the words out, choosing to bury your head into Lando’s neck as he gently rubbed your back.

“I know,” he whispered, lifting your head to kiss you senseless once again.

The two of you were so wrapped up in one another that neither of you heard a knock at the door or the turning of the knob. You did, however, hear the blood-curdling scream.

“Oh my god, my eyes,” Max groaned, slapping a hand over his face while he dramatically dry-heaved. “Get a room, you deviants!”

“Mate, we are literally in a room!” Lando shouted back, lifting you gently off his lap before he leapt to his feet and pushed Max backward. “We will see you back at the hotel.”

“Great, I’ll be bleaching my eyes out when you get there. For the record, I’ve always wanted this to happen, but I never wanted to see it.”

“Well, that’s your own fault,” you scolded. “Next time wait for a response before barging in somewhere.”

“Oh, believe me,” he stressed, “I’ll never be walking into any room you two are in ever again. Not even if there’s another fire and I’m the only one who can warn you to get out.”

“The dramatics are unnecessary but you do need to leave,” Lando insisted, pointing out the door.

“Yes, absolutely, but before I go, who confessed first?”

“Lando did,” you said proudly. “I’m just irresistible, I guess.” Lando winked back at you, which you took to be an agreement.

“Damn it, I owe Piastri, Sainz, and Verstappen $100 each,” Max groaned. “Like they need my money. See you two lovebirds later!”

He shut the door so quickly that neither you nor Lando had time to react to the fact that your friends had been betting on you. It took a few rounds of looking back and forth at each other and then the closed door before you burst into giggles and fell back into the couch, clinging onto each other. You laughed a bit too hard, your hands leaving Lando to clutch at your ribs. Almost instantly, you felt yourself sliding off your seat, your bum hitting the floor with a thud.

You looked up to see Lando with his arm outstretched, a cheesy smile on his face as he repeated the same words he said to you so many years ago.

“Take my hand.”

And just like you did that fateful day, you grabbed on, let him pull you up, and fell in love all over again. 

----------------------

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[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Will Graham X Reader: Nightcap

Summary: Will needs a little help going to sleep after a nightmare.

Warnings: not proof read, smut, cowgirl, oral (f & m receiving), penetration ( p in v), pet names (baby), cursing, nightmares, cum eating, no use of y/n.

Word count: 1,8 K

He’s sweating through his sheets.

Even in his hazy state he can feel the cold sweat that covers his body. He tries to wake himself up but his body refuses. He’s staring at the stag before him. The animal itself isn't threatening. It's the feelings that come with it that cause Will to shake in bed. He feels something grab onto his shoulder and turns to look at what was touching him. His eyes find you, your mouth is open wide as if you were screaming but no sound comes out. He calls out your name just as his body sinks into the ground. 

Will snapped up from his bed, his heart hammering in his chest. His wet clothes cling to his body uncomfortably. He’s been in this situation before, the only difference is that this time he’s not alone. You're here with him. He feels bad for waking you up but he's glad he’s not alone. The palm of your hand warms his arm, causing him to stare at it. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Nightmares.”

“Are they always that bad?”

Will stops staring at your hand on him opting to look at your face. You're looking at him like a wounded animal and he hates it. But he supposes it's better than looking at him like he’s crazy.

“Not always but yeah most of them are…”

“Intense?”

“That's a word for it.”

Of course the only night he has someone sleep over he has one of the worst nightmares he’s had in months. He must have been quite loud for you to be able to hear him from another room.

“Sorry for waking you.”

“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep. I was on my way to get a cup of water when I heard you. You sounded scared so I thought maybe I should check on you.”

Your relationship with Will was odd. You weren’t exactly friends but you weren’t just coworkers either. You’d been helping him organize information for his next class and hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. Will hated the thought of you driving in the dark because of him so he offered you a place to crash.

It was the first time you’d truly seen Will. You helped him cook dinner and the two of you had shared a bottle of wine. You talked until your eyes started to feel heavy. Will showed you to your bed and bid you goodnight. It all felt very intimate. You weren’t sleeping in his bed but this was the closest you’d been to each other outside of work. Will didn’t really know how to behave around you. He’d flush when you said anything remotely flirty to him and he would often find himself observing you as you worked. He was fascinated by you but instead of telling you that he bottled his desire deep inside himself. 

“Do you have more sheets?”

“Yeah in the closet.”

You moved over to the closet, searching for a fresh set of sheets. Will rose from the bed beginning to tug on the soaked sheets. He bundled the fabric in his hands before throwing it into the hamper. You made your way to him, handing him the clean sheets. The two of you worked together making the bed quickly. You pat Will's pillow lightly before moving away from the bed. 

“There. Good as new!”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Silence fell over the room. You started at the bed wondering if anyone had ever had the pleasure of sharing the space with Will. Will watched you deep in thought. He used the opportunity to observe you. Your body was covered by one of his shirts. It was an old piece of clothing, worn down by time but you made it work. An overwhelming need to move closer towards you consumed him all of a sudden. He decided to act on it. He inched himself towards you slowly, not wanting to break your train of thought.

You didn’t notice him move. When you turned to look at him, expecting him to still be far from you, you bumped into him accidentally. The palms of your hands came in contact with his chest. Will looked down at where your body touched his. Before he could do anything you pulled away, creating some distance between you two. You let out a small laugh, stuttering a bit as you spoke.

“I’m gonna get out of your hair. Goodnight.”

You spun on your heels rolling your eyes at yourself. How could such a small amount of contact flustered you so much? Will reached out to you, his hand grabbing onto your arm. You felt the tug on your arm making you stop and turn. 

“Stay.”

“We have work tomorrow. You need to sleep, Will.”

“I won't be able to fall asleep anytime soon. Stay with me. We can talk until we feel tired again.”

You knew you should say no but the way Will was looking at you:  eyes glossy due to lack of sleep, hair tousled due to his abrupt awakening, lips slightly parted as he waited for your response, made it impossible. So you stayed. 

What's the worst that could happen?

Things escalated quickly. You’d gone from talking about work, to intensely making out, to Will begging to eat you out in a matter of minutes.

And you let him.

Your hands curled into Will's curls as his tongue moved over your clit. His hands grab onto your thighs as you squirm beneath him. 

“Will ah i can’t-”

“Come on just one more. You can do it baby.”

He’d said he needed to destress a bit before going to sleep again and what better way to take his mind off things than absolutely ravaging you with his tongue. He’d already made you cum twice but he needed to feel you spill your juices one more time. Just a bit more and he’d be satisfied. He’d said that but it was a lie. From the second he’d felt your lips on his he knew he’d never get enough of the taste of you. He was clawing so harshly at your legs you were sure you’d have scratch marks tomorrow. The thought of having a reminder of him on your body, even if for a little while, exited you. Your hips rose from the bed as you reached your third orgasm. Will kept licking at you until you had to physically push his face off you. He laid his head on your thigh, staring up at you like a puppy. A warm smile spread over Will's face as he watched your chest rise and fall. He would have never imagined he’d find himself in this situation.  You let out a content sigh, finally opening your eyes to look at him. He was looking up at you like a god. It was then that you noticed he was waiting for you to tell him what you wanted. You placed your hand on his face, thumb stroking his cheek as you called out his name. 

“Yes beautiful?”

“Come give me a kiss.”

You felt the weight on your legs dissipate as he rose from the bed. He crawled over your body, arms flexing as he moved. Once he’d gotten face to face with you he leant down slowly to place a kiss on your lips. You held his face, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. Your legs wound around Wills hips as you made out. He let out a small grunt when you accidentally grazed his hard on. Using all of your body weight you managed to flip your positions around so that you were on top of Will. You grinned down at him, hands splayed against his chest as you rocked your hips slowly.

“My turn.”

You inched your body down his. Will's breath hitched as you gave his hipbone a kiss. His hands gripped at the fresh sheets as you continued to tease him over his boxers. It was only when he let out a breathy “please” that you decided to indulge him. You tugged his boxers down, freeing his dick. You held him in your hand enjoying the weight for a moment before beginning to stroke him. The Will Graham you were currently seeing was nothing like the one you were used to. You’d never seen Will's body so relaxed. Your lips ghosted the tip of his dick causing him to whine.

“You want my mouth Will?”

“Shit baby please.”

He sounded so pretty for you. How could you deny him? As soon as your lips wrapped around his dick Will swore he’d never be able to forget the feeling. You boobed your head, tongue moving over the veins of his dick. Will tugged at your hair roughly, not being able to control his strength due to the pleasure you were giving him. Tears fell from your eyes as you gagged around his dick. He felt the droplets fall on his thighs causing him to raise his head from the people to look at you. A deep moan made its way out of Will as he began to buck his hips. Your grip on his legs tightened as he fucked into your throat. He was getting closer and closer to the edge. You waited eagerly for him to blow his load but then all of a sudden he was tugging you off of him. 

“ Will what’s wro-”

“Sorry baby can’t take it any longer.”

Will roughly tugged you onto him. He positioned himself at your entrance and before you could even process what was going on he sunk into you. You moaned out his name as he filled you up. On instinct you started bouncing on his dick. 

“That’s it baby. Ride me.”

“Jesus Will…you feel so good.”

His hands guided your movements forcing you to move faster and faster as he desperately tried to find release. 

“Fuck i’m gonna cum”

“Give to me Will.”

“Ah shit!”

Wills hips bucked up one last time spilling his load into your. YOu continued grinding on him as he came down from his high. Your hands moved to remove the curls that stuck to his forehead. Will gave you a sleepy smile as you caressed him. You leaned down to give him a kiss. His arms wrapped around your body holding you to him. You closed your eyes hearing the small snores that started to slip out of Will. You nuzzled your body closer to him.

“Good night Will.”

When Will woke up the next morning he found your frame nuzzled into his side, his arm slung over your waist. He placed a kiss on your temple before closing his eyes again. Sleep washed over him quickly. 

He waited from the nightmares to come.

They never did.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1.2k / 18 / soap soulmate au, part 1

...

You're Soap's enemy. One of Graves' Shadows. You just betrayed him, and now he's seeing his name tattooed across your skin. The Las Almas night nearly eclipses the soulmark's inky color. But it's there, clear as day. He can't wrap his adrenaline-addled mind around it.

He ghosts up behind where you're posted--pacing, patrolling, on the lookout for him--and wraps his hand around your mouth. You react in surprise, grabbing his wrist. But before you can twist out of his grasp, he slides the blade of your fallen Shadow's knife against your back.

If you're his soulmate, it changes nothing. He'll still be one man against dozens, chances slim to none that he'll make it out of this alive. But he has to know.

"You," he growls. "What's your name?"

You still. You're trained to keep a cool head under far more extreme circumstances than this.

"Your name," Soap repeats, voice like gravel.

He loosens his grip just enough to let you speak.

You release a slow breath out. "Classified."

He increases the pressure of his knife against your back. "That bastard Graves trusts you, aye? Not many others posted this way. Nobody'll find you for awhile." He presses the tip of the knife back into the fabric of your uniform. He'll keep the pressure there until he gets what he wants. "Your full name."

You say nothing for a long moment. But then, you see no reason to die overlooking these twisting Las Almas alleyways. You tell him your full name.

It confirms what he already knows. It's the name printed on his own skin, the name he's repeated to himself thousands of times over. The knife disappears from your back.

"Look at me," he tells you.

You push his arm away and turn on him, drawing your sidearm and training it at his chest. You step back, looking him up and down. "You're the one we're looking for. Aren't you? Capture or kill--" Your voice falters when you see he pulls his shirtsleeve up, revealing his own soulmate. He doesn't give you one goddamn second to try to deny it or turn your eyes away the way you've been trained. Your name. Tattooed on your target's arm.

Seeing you eye to eye, Soap's breath catches in his throat. His own name on the side of your neck is clear as day to him now.

"You're her," he says, still not quite believing it.

You take another step back. What are you supposed to do? You should shoot him, yes, but could you even make your finger pull the fucking trigger now? You lower your gun, but you don't put it away.

"You should go," you tell him, voice low. "Now."

But he doesn't move. He wants to take this moment in, study your face, memorize every detail. You're the real thing. His blue eyes stay locked onto yours, and a myriad of scenarios play through his mind, just like yours. What happens if he leaves? Will he be able to find you again?

He takes a step toward you.

"Don't do that," you warn him, sliding back a step to keep the same distance between you. "Don't make me hurt you."

"You wouldn't." He moves for you now with the confidence of a man who believes that, too. He wants to touch you again. Just to make sure you're really here. His voice is rough and thick. "I need to look at you."

You bite down on a gasp when your heel knocks against the wall. He's getting too close. You can't let your control on the situation slip. You can't forget why you're here or what will happen if Graves finds out about this.

"Back off," you warn him again. You still have your sidearm in hand, but you're terrified he's right--pointing it at him is an empty threat.

"Can't."

He moves in close to you, his breath hot on your neck. You swear you can feel his body heat through the layers of both your uniforms. Your nerves are on fire. His scent is everywhere. This can't be happening. Not now. It should be a dream, meeting your soulmate, but it's a nightmare.

"Listen to me," you force out. "They'll find you and kill you. Leave. Now."

"Can't." Soap is close enough to whisper it into your ear. His hands close around your arms. "Can't think straight with you in front of me." His gaze darkens as he pushes forward, pressing you into the wall and pinning you there. If he's not going to live to see morning, he's going to kiss you. He has to taste you.

You hear another Shadow under you, boots thudding against the metal stairs, scaling up to your lookout perch.

You try to fight the panic welling up in your throat. You could both be shot for this. Killed for it. Worse.

You can't let them see him. If you give him what he wants, he'll go, right?

You grab his collar and pull him forward, meeting his lips in a searing kiss. His lips feel like stubble and taste like blood. He shudders, feeling your body suddenly pressed against his. He deepens the kiss. He's starving, but it's not enough. Just the taste and feel of you isn't enough. His fingers weave into your hair and he pulls you close, pressing even harder against your body.

You forget yourself for a moment. Your brain chemistry shifts hard, heat and want burning in your veins.

Then you hear voices from below and reality washes over you again. With a strangled groan, you push him away. "God damn you. Hide."

Soap has to force himself to let you go. It takes every ounce of control to keep from reaching for you again. But the look in your eyes when you push him away... he knows you've crossed a line.

He disappears the moment two more Shadows crest the top of the iron staircase.

You avoid rousing suspicion as you lie to your allies' faces, reporting no sightings of either target. By the time you're forced to leave your post and follow the others back to the nearest rendezvous point, you're resigned to never seeing him again. It's better not to wonder.

All you can think about are his fingers weaving into your hair, his lips on yours, the burning grip of his hands around your wrists. You tell yourself not to think about it... but then your mind goes back to it, over and over. No matter how much you tell yourself it's better not to fantasize.

Even when you learn he evaded capture, he's a wanted man. A dead man walking. You're better off pretending you never saw your name tattooed on his skin.

...

There is no other thought on Soap's mind but you long after he slips away into the Las Almas night.  The sight of you leaving with the other Shadows haunts him when he closes his eyes. He wakes up adrenalized, thinking about you in his hands, his heart pounding like it could punch through his rib cage.

His soulmate got away, and the weight of regret is setting in.

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[unconventional-lawnchair]

"god I'm supposed to hate you, why don't i hate you?" with barty and potter! reader? 👀 the recent fic got me thinking sjdjkdkf

I Might Still Hate You

Barty Crouch Jr. x Potter!Reader

AN: I couldn't sleep last night, I'm blaming this. ANY excuse to write Barty x Potter reader tbh

Summary: An unexpected guest shows up at your house late at night.

WC: ~3k

CW: Small bit of cussing, implied child abuse

You couldn’t remember a single time Bartemius Crouch Jr had ever said something kind to you.

It was likely because he never had.

From the very beginning, you and Barty had been locked in a mutual loathing. Whether it was academic rivalry, dueling matches, or sheer social standing, the two of you couldn’t seem to share a room without bristling at the other’s presence. Maybe it was the way you refused to bow under his threats, meeting his sharp words with sharper ones of your own. Or the way he matched your challenges like a game he was desperate to win, his smirk always daring you to push him further.

But really, it was probably your name.

"Potter."He never just said it- he delivered it, each syllable like a whip crack, leaving something raw behind. You hated the way he said it, how his voice dipped just slightly when he drew it out, like it was a secret he wasn’t supposed to know but delighted in exposing anyway.

“You know, it suits you.” He had told you once, a wicked grin slashing across his face as you squared off in yet another argument. “All that self-righteousness. It clings to you, like perfume.”

Your glare had only made his grin widen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re exactly what everyone expects a Potter to be. And isn’t that exhausting for you? Always pretending you’re better than everyone else?”

“I don’t need to pretend, Crouch.” You had shot back, stepping closer, challenging him as you always did, smirking. “But maybe you should stop pretending you’re not desperate to prove yourself to me. ‘Clings to be like perfume’? Give me some room, maybe you wouldn't be so wrapped in it.”

That grin faltered just slightly, his eyes narrowing. For a moment- just a moment, you thought you saw something flicker behind his bravado. But then it was gone, replaced by his usual venom. Giving you an expression he saved just for you- unbridled hatred.

“You’re insufferable.” He glared down at you before slowly smirking himself. As if his lip didn't twitch into a frown at your remark.

“And you’re pathetic.” You drawled, running your quill along the bridge of your nose.

Barty had a way of getting under your skin. You told yourself it was just the rivalry. Just the mutual hatred that kept him in your thoughts, his voice echoing far too clearly in your head.

But you hated how sometimes, when he was close, your pulse raced for reasons you couldn’t quite name. How his cologne reminded you of your best days, because he was never far behind you.

Everything considered, everything he's done and said to you, there was nothing that prepared you for this.

A sharp knock echoed through the quiet halls of Potter Manor, startling you from your thoughts. It was late, too late for visitors. The rain outside battered against the windows like an unwelcome intruder. You hesitated for a moment before making your way to the front door, curiosity piqued and wand subtly gripped just in case.

Pulling open the heavy oak door, you were met with a sight that made you question if you'd somehow drifted into a dream or perhaps a nightmare.

"Crouch?" You uttered, eyes widening as you took in his disheveled appearance. His usually pristine hair was plastered to his forehead, rainwater dripping down his face and soaking his clothes. A dark bruise was forming around his left eye, the skin swollen and tender-looking. His nose was red, and whether from the cold or something else, it was clear he'd been through quite an ordeal.

He blinked at you, seeming just as surprised to find himself on your doorstep. "Potter.” He mumbled, but the usual sneer in his voice was absent. Instead, it sounded almost... defeated.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, a mix of concern and confusion lacing your tone.

He glanced away, jaw tightening. "Didn't realize where I was going," He shrugged. "Just walking."

"In the pouring rain? With a black eye?" You raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident.

"Brilliant observation, as always," He shot back, but the retort lacked his typical bite.

You sighed, stepping aside. "Well, don't just stand there. Come inside before you catch pneumonia."

He hesitated, pride warring with practicality, but the chill of the rain seemed to make the decision for him. He stepped over the threshold, dripping water onto the polished wooden floor. You closed the door behind him, the sound of the storm muffled but the tension between you both as palpable as ever.

You closed the door softly, turning to face him with a sigh. Barty stood there, dripping rainwater onto the polished floor, his gaze avoiding yours. Your mother was going to kill you. There was something unnervingly quiet about him, something unspoken weighing heavily in the space between you.

"If my brother sees you, he’s going to lose his mind.” You muttered, already thinking through how to avoid that particular disaster.

Barty snorted, the sound bitter but faint. "Wouldn’t be the first time a Potter tried to hex me."

"Well, I’m not in the mood to hear James shouting at two in the morning, so we’re going to avoid that, alright?" Without waiting for his reply, you grabbed his arm and began pulling him toward the stairs.

He stiffened. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you.” You hissed. "Now, shut up and follow me."

He opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, instead allowing you to lead him up the staircase. The house creaked softly underfoot, the storm outside muffling your steps as you tiptoed toward your room. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder every few seconds, half-expecting James to come barreling out of his room with Sirius in a righteous fury.

When you finally reached your door, you pushed it open and gestured him inside. Barty hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "Your room?"

"Yes, my room.” You replied a bit snappily, exasperated. "Unless you’d prefer I dump you in the hall for James to find?"

He stepped inside without another word, though his posture was tense, his gaze darting around the space as though expecting a trap. You shut the door quietly behind you, casting a silencing charm for good measure.

"Sit.” You ordered, gesturing to the small chair near your desk.

Barty sat reluctantly, his wet clothes clinging to him and dripping onto the carpet. You grimaced. "You’re ruining my mum’s rug."

"Your concern is touching.” He drawled, though the usual venom was missing. He looked utterly miserable, and the bruise on his face seemed darker in the soft glow of the room’s light.

Ignoring his sarcasm, you rummaged through your wardrobe for a spare towel and tossed it at him. "Dry off. I’ll find something for you to wear so you’re not freezing to death."

He caught the towel with a raised brow. "I didn’t realize Potter hospitality came with wardrobe changes."

"Do you ever stop talking?" You shot back, digging through a drawer until you found an old jumper Sirius gave you and a pair of sweatpants James had ‘lost’. "Here. They're my brothers, but it’s better than sitting around in wet clothes."

He muttered something you didn’t quite catch, taking the clothes from you with a begrudging nod. You turned away, giving him privacy as he changed, though you couldn’t help but feel the tension in the air grow thicker with every passing moment.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. "Why are you doing this?"

You glanced over your shoulder, finding him standing there in the oversized jumper, his wet hair pushed back from his face. Without the rain and the usual sneer to hide behind, he looked... different. Tired. Vulnerable, even.

"You showed up on my doorstep looking like you’d been through hell.” You shrugged. "I couldn’t just leave you out there."

He scoffed lightly, but there was no real bite to it. "You’re a strange one, Potter."

"And you’re still unbearable," You mumbled, crossing your arms. "But here we are."

Silence fell between you, the storm outside filling the quiet. Barty’s eyes flicked to the window, then back to you. "Your brother-”

"Will stay asleep if you keep your voice down.” You interrupted. "I’ll deal with James or Sirius if it comes to that. For now, just... sit down and rest. I’ll grab some ice for your eye."

He didn’t argue, which was strange enough in itself, sinking back into the chair and watching you as you slipped out of the room. When you returned with a cold cloth, he accepted it without a word, holding it gingerly to his swollen eye.

"Thanks.” He mused after a moment, the word sounding foreign in his mouth.

You sat down on the edge of your bed, studying him carefully. "Who hit you?"

"Does it matter?" His tone was dismissive, but you caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched.

"It does if you’re going to keep showing up like this.. was it your father, Junior?”

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. You sighed, leaning back on your hands. "You don’t have to tell me. But you’re not going anywhere until you’re steady on your feet, alright?"

"Afraid I’ll collapse in the rain?" He snarked, his usual smirk making a brief appearance.

"I’m afraid you’ll collapse on my doorstep and make me explain to my father why a random boy is here," You shot back.

The room settled into a fragile quiet, the storm outside providing a constant backdrop. Barty sat there, pressing the cold cloth to his eye, his face obscured by shadows and bruises. You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, watching him carefully. He was always so quick with a retort, so quick to lash out, and yet now he seemed... hollow, his usual sharp edges dulled by whatever had led him to your doorstep tonight.

"You’re staring.” He muttered, his voice breaking the silence.

"You’re in my room.” You countered, refusing to back down.

He huffed a faint laugh, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. "Fair enough, Potter. I didn’t exactly plan this, you know."

"You don’t say?" You deadpanned, tilting your head. "Because you seem like the type to storm through rain-soaked nights and show up unannounced."

"Better than staying where I was." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and his face darkened immediately, his jaw clenching as he turned his attention to the cloth in his hands.

You didn’t push him. Not yet. Instead, you sat back, letting the silence stretch just long enough to ease the tension in the air. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of malice in his gaze. Just exhaustion.

"I don’t understand you, Potter.” He scoffed softly, almost as if to himself. "Why are you doing this?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "You keep asking that. Do you really not get it?"

His brow furrowed. "We hate each other. Isn’t that the whole point of us? This... thing?"

"This thing? You mean our rivalry?" You huffed, raising an eyebrow. "It’s not like it’s my whole identity, Crouch. Believe it or not, I’m capable of basic human decency."

"Decency?" He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "You don’t owe me anything, Potter. Especially not that."

"No, I don’t.” You shrugged, leaning forward. "But you showed up here, soaked to the bone and bruised. I’m supposed to hate you, sure, but..." You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before you forced them out. "I don’t hate you right now."

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to find the trap in your words. "Why not?"

"Merlin, Crouch.” You muttered, exasperated. "I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you look like a stray Kneazle someone kicked into a gutter."

His lips twitched at that, and for a brief moment, you thought he might smile. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his expression guarded but less harsh. "Don’t pity me, Potter. That’s worse than hate."

"I’m not pitying you.” You snapped back. "But I am trying to figure out why you’re so determined to make everyone hate you, including me."

"Maybe I deserve it." His voice was so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. His usual bravado cracked further as he glanced away, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the towel.

You softened at that, the sharp edge of your retort fading before it could form. "Maybe you don’t.” You coaxed gently. "You ever think of that?"

He didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes. He looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t bring himself to let the words out. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting back to you.

"You’re annoying, you know that?" he finally muttered, shaking his head. "You’re supposed to be this... untouchable, perfect Potter. And yet here you are, making it impossible for me to hate you."

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. The air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

"You hate me just fine most of the time.” You rolled your eyes, your voice quieter now.

He laughed, but it was a hollow sound, one that didn’t reach his eyes. "Do I? Or is that just easier than... this?"

"This?" You echoed, your heart pounding as the word lingered in the air between you.

He didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes said enough. Vulnerability mixed with defiance, like he hated himself for letting you see even a glimpse of what lay beneath his carefully crafted exterior. You opened your mouth to say something, anything but the words tangled on your tongue.

"I should go.” He said suddenly, standing up and tossing the towel onto the chair. "This was a mistake."

You were on your feet before you even realized it. "Don’t be an idiot, Crouch. You’re not going anywhere like this."

"I’m fine.” He snapped, but his voice cracked, betraying him.

"You’re not fine.” You shot back, stepping closer. "And you don’t have to be."

His jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You think you know me, Potter? You don’t. You can’t just... fix me with a towel and some kind words."

"I’m not trying to fix you.” You scoffed but your voice strained, soft but firm. "I’m just trying to remind you that you don’t have to do this alone."

For a moment, it looked like he might argue again, but then his shoulders slumped, and he let out a shaky breath. "Why are you doing this?" He asked one last time, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t have an answer, not really. All you could do was reach out, resting a hand on his arm. "Because I don’t hate you.” You said finally. "And maybe I never did."

His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting moment, the storm outside seemed to quiet.

“I hate you.” He whispered softly. Testing the words on his tongue.

“That's okay.”

“I hate you.” He spoke again, more determined as his brows furrowed at you in frustration.

“I can live with that, Junior.”

“I hate you.” He spoke in his normal tone, before his shoulders fell and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I'm supposed to hate you. Why don't I hate you?”

Your heart thudded painfully at his words. His voice, usually laced with arrogance and venom, was raw now, trembling with something unspoken. It wasn’t a question meant for you. It wasn’t even a question meant for him, not really. It hung in the air, heavy with everything he couldn’t say and everything you couldn’t answer.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his words carved into you, settling in places you didn’t want to acknowledge. "Maybe you’re not as good at hating as you think," you whispered softly, your voice barely cutting through the silence.

Barty let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Oh, I’m very good at hating, Potter. Comes naturally to a Crouch. You should know- you’ve been on the receiving end often enough."

"Then what’s stopping you now?" You challenged, stepping closer, the space between you shrinking to something almost unbearable. "What’s so different this time?"

His eyes flickered to yours, narrowing as though he was trying to figure you out, to dissect every word and find its weakness. "You’re insufferable," He muttered, but his voice lacked conviction. "Always so damn persistent."

"Stop deflecting, Crouch." You didn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down, standing your ground even as his walls threatened to rebuild. "Why don’t you hate me?"

"Because I-" He stopped himself, his jaw clenching, the frustration in his expression cracking further. He turned away from you, raking a hand through his damp hair. "I don’t know, alright? I don’t know. I’ve hated you since the first day I met you, but now-" He broke off again, his shoulders tense, his fists clenching at his sides.

"But now what?" You pressed gently, your tone softer this time.

"But now it’s harder.” He admitted finally, his voice so quiet you barely caught the words. He turned back to face you, his eyes meeting yours, and for the first time, he looked completely, heartbreakingly vulnerable. "I don’t know what to do with that."

Your chest tightened, the weight of his admission settling heavily between you. "Maybe you don’t have to do anything.” You took another step closer. "Maybe it’s okay to just... stop fighting it."

His lips twitched, not quite a smirk but not a smile either. "And what exactly am I supposed to do instead?"

"You could start by letting yourself be honest.” You replied. "For once."

Barty studied you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours like he was looking for an answer he didn’t want to find. Then, almost imperceptibly, he took a step closer, the tension between you reaching a breaking point.

"Honest, huh?" He murmured, his voice low. "Alright, Potter. Here’s some honesty for you- I hate the way you do your hair. I hate the way you hold a room. I hate the way you can wipe me across the floor in a duel and still challenge me in a classroom. I hate how you never stop talking- I hate how you make me feel. I hate that you make it impossible to look at you without... without wanting something I’m not supposed to want."

Your breath hitched, his words sending a jolt through you. The room felt smaller, the storm outside nothing compared to the one brewing between you.

"Then stop pretending you hate me.” You slipped your hands into your cardigan pockets, your voice steady despite the way your pulse raced. "Because we both know you don’t."

For a moment, he didn’t move, his expression unreadable. Then, with a frustrated growl, he reached out, his hand cupping your jaw as he pulled you closer. His lips hovered just a breath away from yours, his gaze locked on yours.

"You’re infuriating," he murmured, his voice rough, almost broken. "And I don’t know if I hate you or if I-"

He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to. The space between you disappeared, the storm outside fading into nothing as his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t soft or sweet- it was raw and desperate, filled with all the unspoken words and tangled emotions you’d both been avoiding for far too long.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I still might hate you.” He mused, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"That’s fine.” Your voice was breathless but steady. "I might still hate you, too."

But the way your hand lingered on his, and the way his grip on you didn’t falter but tightened, told a different story entirely.

[onthecrescentofthehill]

I feel like this is such a key moment in Shuro and Falin’s dynamic that i’ve never seen talked about and wish was mentioned again in canon. ‼️THIS IS NOT A SHIP POST‼️ for clarity but to me it adds such an interesting layer to how Shuro must feel towards her and the imbalance in their relationship…..

So much of his character is feeling alienated and inaccessible to the people around him, at first in his own family and then culturally after he left home. the party doesn’t even know his actual name. he’s under so much pressure and could feel like anyone Knowing another side of him would compromise his obligations, and partly why he resents what he views as Laios’s compulsive earnestness so much. but at the same time I think him seeing how much patience and love she has for Laios makes him wonder if he could be safe with her. and in the caterpillar scene he sees Falin finding beauty in something others find repulsive and inconsequential (plus in the recent Adventure Bible we learn he also has an interest in critters….)

I’m not sure when the caterpillar scene takes place in relation to his nightmare, either way she literally enters his subconscious and saves his life!! I’m so so so curious about the details tbh. I can’t imagine how humiliating that would feel but at the same time it took away the need for him to confess any of his weaknesses, Falin took it upon herself and the most Insane part to me is he probably doesn’t even remember what she saw, because Marcille didn’t remember the content of hers. and there’s no way he’d ASK, and Falin wouldn’t volunteer that information.

anywayyyyy Shuro knows she’s seen the deep pain and loneliness at his core and guided him out. he wants that, he DID get it, but doesn’t know HOW!!!! so of course he’d try to chase that in reality and he would feel an intense closeness with her because she’s the only one who who’s Literally Seen that side of him, one that he might not have a full realization of.

it rly captures this imbalance between them that I think Shuro really wants to bridge even if he’s unequipped for it, and Falin doesn’t reciprocate. like. You See Me, Can You Please Show Me What You See? he knows, factually, that she could understand and help him. but he only offers to make her “comfortable.” and at the end of the day she does for him what she would do for anyone, often at great risk to herself (imo her desire for independence in the AB demonstrates her wanting to break this) he knows this and it would be enough, he even admires that about her greatly. but it doesn’t leave much room for her own self actualization.

I don’t have a conclusion other than thank you Ryoko Kui. thank you.

[unluckilyimnot]

JEALOUS SAE HEADCANONS PLEASEEEEE

Jealous hc

Characters: sae, rin, kaiser, hiori, karasu, shidou

m.list | rules

Note: hiiii how are youuu thank you for your request hihi I had other characters bc I felt like doing it for them too

Sae Itoshi

he’s too prideful to be jealous, or he thinks so

in fact he get pissed off easily, anyone being a little to friendly with you bother him and he already doesn’t like anyone so imagine

he’s not subtile, even if he thinks he is

he’ll get closer, talk like shit to the person who’s flirting with you in his eyes

roll his eyes, click his tongue, you name it

Suddenly he wants to go home or leave for another place

You never honestly never thought you'll see him like that since he's confident and trusts you

I think he just doesn't like people and so by extension he hates people talking to you

He likes to think he's the only one who can make you smile like that, beside your friends (he's not insane)

So seeing some nobody making you smile, or even worst : laugh makes him jealous

He’s not into pda to save his life i think, that’s something he keeps behind closed doors

But oh man how he likes to kiss you when it happens, just to remind everyone that you're taken and you're proud of it

Be prepared to hear about this, he’s a nagging mom at heart

“Are you done ?” you’d ask and magically, yes he is

he will sulk yes, but close to you at least

Rin Itoshi

Bare with him, he acts tough but deep down he wants to cry

Just like his brother, he will get closer, his arm will probably stay around your shoulders after that

But he won’t be mean to them, just kinda ignore them or send death glare if they get too close

No touching, even in a friendly way, don’t be ridiculous

I think he appreciates it if you put a stop yourself

He’s more insecure than he likes to admit and it prove him that he can trust you

He’s gonna be clingy af though

When you two are finally alone, Rin won’t say a world but glue himself to you

He’ll need reassurance for sure :( this boy has abandon issues

Michael Kaiser

He’s an asshole (lovingly)

He let people flirt with you if it helps their ego and mock them for how long you can think, it’s almost an inside joke for him

The irony is that he’s really possessive, so it’s all fun and game until it’s not some loser that try to hit on you

Not that he feels threaten, please

But he still don’t wanna play with them and he doesn’t want you nearby

If you just happen to be friendly with someone then he’s bothered

What do you mean by being this happy to see someone else ?

He’ll ask a million questions and whine about it before brush it off as if he doesn’t care

It takes a lot to deal with him, his reaction depend on his phase

If he feels low then he’ll be a nightmare, you had to be sorry for someone hitting on you and tell him he’s your one and only

If he’s his confident self, it’s almost like he doesn’t care and let it happen

Being with him is a roller coaster

Tabito Karasu

Best man if is speak

He’s mature and he knows he’s projecting his own insecurity when he’s jealous, so he doesn’t make a big deal about it

He’s not gonna ruin the moment so he just keep his cool and act normally

Deep down you can feel there’s some awkwardness so you try to ask him silently, with your eyes or smile, if he’s ok

He loves you so much he feels dumb to even be jealous the second you do that honestly

Expect small pda like holding hands above your knees, playing with your fingers or the em of your shirt/ skirt

He’ll talk to you about it on your way back home or when you two are comfortable at yours or his place

He knows it’s normal to feel like this sometimes but it’s normal to reach for comfort right ? he’s not shy to ask

Nothings best than you playing with his hair, laying on your chest or thighs

Ryusei Shidou

He’s unhinged he scares me

I think he’s the most jealous among them

You’re his, that’s it so, he may seem lay back (and weird) but he’s cautious with every person coming near you

I hc him with abandon issues as well (give us his back story please and make it worth it compare to some character) so he’s always scared of you leaving

It’s still more in a possessive than an insecure way, he just can’t take it if he considered that someone is too close to you

He gets touchy oh my, he’s all over you, can’t keep his hands to himself just to let them know that you’re taken

He’ll talk to them straight in the eyes while his hand run up and down your thighs, he’s not ashamed of anything

You have to put a stop to it but always expected something more while coming home

Yo Hiori

He’s cute and I don’t think people take him seriously enough

You’re amazing and beautiful and fun to talk to, people already asked you why him

He kinda has war flashback ngl

Obviously he also think that he’s not enough and probably get jealous/sad quickly if someone get close to you and is really friendly

He’s scared to take things into hand I think, so he’ll just ask for you two to leave

He won’t tell you how he feels, he’s sure it’s not important enough to bring it up but you always ask him anyway

You’re so sorry that it happens at all honestly, you never want him to feel like this

He never ask for it but you’re clingy and want to do nothing with him, spending some quality time together, watching him play game while you stay on your phone or even sitting in his laps

It always make him feel better and remind him that you won’t leave him so soon

I hope you liked it ♡